Something Gone Wrong
by me38242
Summary: Max and Fang are half-brother and sister who have never met before, until they're suddenly thrust into the same household together. What happens when they're caught in a forbidden romance? Taboo. AU.
1. Jeb and Fang

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in__ nature,__ and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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Chapter One: Jeb and Fang**

I was sitting in the kitchen, talking to Mom and watching her make coffee and some hot chocolate for me.

"So, Max, hows Mr. Keenans doing these days?" she asked, turning around with a stirring stick in her cup.

"I heard his cancer is in recession now, but I don't really know since I don't have him anymore," I told her.

My mom has always been really attentive and stuff—she always knows whats going on in my life, school, friends, etc. Most teenagers, they hate their parents, but I really couldn't find a reason to dislike my mom. She always knows how to set reasonable limits, and I suppose I'm not really a bad kid anyway.

Okay. Wrong. So, I'm sort of a troublemaker. In kindergarten I was pretty much sorta kinda basically a bully.. to everyone. And that sort of lasted.. all the way up until... seventh grade? Which isn't saying much, cause that was just three years ago, but I swear I've changed! I'm a completely different person now. Cough. Anywho..

Whenever I got into trouble, my mom would always take it in stride. She was just cool like that.

She turned around and handed me a mug of hot chocolate with a smile on her face. I grinned back cheekily. My mom was Valencia Martinez, animal vet extraodinaire, _mom _extraodinaire. And I was Maximum Ride, daughter of her and my dad, Jebediah Ride.

Except the smile on her face was only plastered on for only my benefit. She was really nervous inside, a complete wreck, actually.

Today.. today was the day Jeb was coming home from his trip..

Now, don't get me wrong, I completely love my mom and all, but I hate that my dad.. and thats the trouble with things, because hes got such a strong pull over her. I won't listen to Jeb until my mom urges me to.. thats all I'm saying. You can't blame me for disliking him.. he's just sort of overbearing.

And sure, my mom knows a lot about my life and all (which trust me, is a very large task to bear if your daughter is a teenager), but shes pleasant about it. Jeb will just try to _control _things, like imposing his own stupid moral values unto me (or lack thereof?), forcing me to take classes I don't want to, and etcetera because the list goes on. He always thinks hes got a better plan for me, but the truth is that he just wants to be in charge of things. I'm pretty sure I know better as to whats better for me at this point in life, wouldn't you say?

Anyway, thats besides the point. Well, sorta. Not really.

Let's go back to the beginning: The first reason any kid could have to hate it's parent: Jeb, for one, cheated on my mom when I was barely old enough to be considered a kid. _Now thats_ saying something, isn't it?

Which brings me back to the reason my mom is such a nervous wreck right now. I feel for her, I really do, but to be completely honest, its because I don't _really_ care.

So some kid is gonna live with us for now. Big whoop. Who the h, e, double hockey sticks, gives a birdspit? Wow, talk about an incredibly bad pun, eh? (I've been trying to lay low on the cursing ever since my baby cousin Angel came by and started spitting out cusses that she'd heard on the street like no tomorrow).

Anyway.. so that brings me back to how great my mum is. Why is she a nervous wreck? Because shes scared that the kid _won't like_ her. See? Thats how incredibly, insanely, awesome, funtastically great is. Next to the fact that her chocolate chip cookies are like, the best.

Unless the kid is like, a total moody, angsty, unopen bitch, theres no reason not to like her. Seriously, I can't find a single flaw in my mom and thats a major feat to find.

So about that trip. Like I said before, Jeb cheated on my mom when I was barely a baby. He was some big-time lab professor/experimental research scientist guy or somecrap that I couldn't care less about. Anywho, he used to go on long trips often before he settled down for a desk job (for the sake of this family? Whoo-hoo, whatever, I think I'd be happier if he wasn't here). So he went to like, Oregon or Massachussets or some dumb suburban state that I don't care about, and he pooped out a kid.

Okay, so I've never won a prize for eloquency..

Basically, he slept with some hoochie—okay, nevermind, I'm really bad at this—he slept with some woman, and she got preggers. Okay. She got pregnant. She had a kid.

Then Jeb realized how much of a fuck up he is and came back to mom and begged and all that stuff. See, if it were up to me, I wouldn't take him back, he cheated on her _while _she was pregnant. I mean, seriously?! Unfortunately, at that time, I had no say in the matter since I was only 6 months old.

And I guess I can understand what Mom was thinking when she took him back—after all, she was alone, single, and with a really young baby. And I dunno.. I guess things seem dandy on her part, considering, as far as we know, Jeb hasn't yet effed up again.

Ah well. So much for that non-cursing thing.

Anyhow. So, the woman that he screwed 17 years ago (or so), got married, and had a life. Jeb sends her checks and stuff, and even went to visit the kid once, when he was like 1 or something. I guess he was a happy kid, since apparently they lived in a large suburban house, and he was the only kid. So, when his mom married, she didn't have any other kids with this new guy, so I'm guessing he didn't have to compete with any children in his lifetime, being an illegitimate child or anything.

See thats whats my mom is worried about—that this kid will think she won't accept him.

This is what I mean. Isn't my mom, like some sort of saint or something? I swear, she's like a god-given gift from an Angel or something. I can totally expect her to sprout wings and fly away someday soon, cause I completelydon't deserve her. Anyway, enough of the mushy gushy stuff.

So apparently this kid's parents were in a car crash two and a half weeks ago. They both died.

I really should be saying that more respectfully, shouldn't I? Eh. Well, too bad. Don't know them, don't care about them. Story of life. People come, people die, and there we go. I'm the type of person who will fight to survive. Thats all I'm saying.

So yeah.. now he's coming to live with us.. because apparently, he has to. Its not like my dad has any custody rights over him, but its just apparently.. like that. I heard his mother's husband had technically adopted him as his own child, but for some reason, the judge at the hearing ruled Jeb the most suitable legal guardian for his benefit.

Don't get me wrong though.. Jeb is a great person, as much as I may hate him.

Its just me actually, who hates him. Maybe its the teenage hormones, cause my younger sister Ella is perfectly fine with him. He's like.. like, super dad, to her. But I guess that doesn't really make sense, considering she's 14--she must have some of those teenage angst hormones in her too. But she's generally a light, bubbly, happy character and personality, sort of like my mom. I sighed inwardly as I realized that I'm alot more like Jeb than I'd wish.

The funny thing is that I _look_ like him. I hear thats a genetic, evolutionary adaptive trait or something—the first born child usually looks like the father so that it doesn't get abandoned, or so my biology teacher says. (Well, too late for that, he didn't wait until I was born to abandon).

Okay. So, as you can see, I'm still quite a bit bitter about that, although that'd be an overall petty thing to be bitter about. Its not just this; in case you haven't noticed, I take every single opportunity to throw something at Jeb and apply it as an excuse to keep a grudge against him.

Yeah. So. I really don't like him. What else is new?

So.. back to the whole 'jeb-is-a-great-person' thing. Well, sure, he's a fine person I guess. Everyone is allowed their mess-ups and stuff, but the reason I dislike him is like, totally way beyond that. It goes into the spectrum of his entire nature. So, obviously, I'm not doing very well at describing how much of a good-guy is. I think my hate convolutes all that into what an assjerkfuck he is. Whoops. Gotta go the low-down on all that cursing..

So yeah. He's a good _person_, he really is. In fact, he's won an insane bunch of these awards on how smart he is and developments in stem cell research and saving the world and blahblahblah who cares, yakno? Anyhow, I guess I have to thank him though. I hear intelligence is genetic, and things come pretty quick to me. I guess I'm a pretty smart kid, I guess. I don't really try in school, things just come to me. Obvious things are usually just sitting there, and other people have such trouble figuring things out.. when they just, yaknow, _click_ in my head, so easily. Maybe its photographic memory, maybe its not, but its pretty damn cool to be the freaking know it all chick at school sometimes.

It helps when you're in a tight spot, on the hot seat at the principals office, for beating up some gross guy. It sort of helps with the come backs. I say, you just spit out, leave them dumbfounded, and then sneak away, real quietly. Meh, it usually works for me.. just sayin'.

So.. Jeb gladly took custody of this kid.. I forget what his name is. Thomas? Josh? I dunno?

And its okay.. cause our family is pretty well off. From what I hear about his, its probably not as impressive as his surburban demigod house or whatever, but we're pretty cool and well off for a bunch of kids living on the outskirts of LA. Mom and Jeb were the charity type parents anyway. And what a perfect opportunity to earn brownie points from God when you can just take in an orphaned kid, who just happens to be one of your little devilur spawns? Cough.

So yeah.. Jeb went to the court hearing, got custody of him, and now.. he's bringing him home. In fact, todays the day he should be back with him.

So my mom is a complete nervous wreck, and shes practically cleaned through the house about a bazillion times. I had to convince her to sit down and let me make her some coffee, but then she jumped up and didn't let me near the coffee maker. (I'm pretty horrendous in the kitchen. Heh, what can I say? Its a talent). So now, she's sitting here in front of me, across the counter, smiling at me with such fakeness plastered all over cause secretly, inside, shes going in insane-freaking-out mode.

If she were the type to do it, her feet would be tapping irritatedly and anxiously on the tiled kitchen floor. Luckily for me, she's not. Even luckier for Ella, she isn't even home tonight to deal with all of this—she's sleeping over at her friends house for an all-nighter school project.

So I'm sitting here on a stool, across the counter from my mad-looking mom, trying to figure out a way to soothe her nerves and calm her down.

"Mom. Relax. It's just a dumb boy," I said to her punctually. She threw me a second-long glare at my tone, and language, and my manner of speech, but then immediately continued to silently freak out inside.

"Maximum, his parents died, _both_ of them," she said urgently to me, as if stressing that out would make me care more.

Okay, so I guess it sucks to have your parents die, both of them, on the same night, suddenly be left with in a giganto house all alone and then have to move to half the complete opposite side of the continent to live with some dude you've got half of your genetics from but haven't met since you were one.

I guess, maybe, just perhaps. But its only so awful because its _Jeb, _he has to live with.. ah, I already do pity myself.

But the point I'm trying to make here, is that _I don't care_, I mean seriously, whats the big deal? And hows it going to affect me?

It was early July, and the patio doors were completely open, the cool summer air sending a chill over my skin, which is why it was the perfect opportunity to take out the hot chocolate I never got to eat during the summertime. I love chocolate. I was sipping it quietly while observing my mother buzz around the kitchen aimlessly (her cooking was already done)—I mean seriously, why do we need an elaborate dinner just to impress some kid who probably doesn't care either?

Absentmindedly, I wondered if he _would _care. Maybe he was one of those uptight snobs with collared shirts and ties who uses fish and salad forks and knew weird stuff teenagers aren't supposed to know? Like the type to give lectures at the dinner table about biogenetics or on unbiased views on current-day politics and speak like an essay. Ugh, god, I thought, just imagining it. Jeb would just friggin _love _that. My thoughts went off on a tangent as I wonder if he would look like me too. Ella looks like my mom's exact photocopy, but except for her eyes, I don't look anything like her. I looked like Jeb, and I wondered if this kid would too.

But overall, the general conclusion in my mind, was that it was just pretty pointless. I mean, two more years, and I'll be off to college and _he'll_ be off the college too, so big whoop?

Besides.. who _cares_, its just some kid.

And his parents died. He'll probably just be introverted and distant from our family anyway. It wouldn't be hard, it'll be just be like having a very respectful, polite, house guest. I'm pretty sure a 17 or 16-year-old boy doesn't have the audacity exactly to intrude into someone else's family's home life. And how well exactly can you assimilate into another completely foreign, utterly unrelated (by unstatistical standards), family setting at that point in your life?

Aha. Impossible. See, exactly, there we go. It won't be a nuisance at all.. like I said, just an elaborate house guest. Jeb will try hard to get him to open up, but obviously it won't work, cause Jeb sucks and sucks at everything he does—from his efforts to his intentions—and the kid will just go back to being whoever he wants to be until he turns 18 and gets the house and the money and move back to Oregan or Massachusetts or Michigan or Alabama or whereever it is that he's from.

And then, suddenly, the doorbell rang. My mom slipped the kitchen mittens off quickly, frantically looking doing nothing and freaking out a bit more audibly now. Observing her amusedly, I took one last slow slip of hot chocolate before I left the hot mug on the counter and casually walked to the door, talking my sweet, sweet, slow time. Mom was too nervous and wreck-ish to have those _simple _things on her mind, such as.. letting them _in. _Ah, gotta love my mom, sweet, innocent, thing she is.

I turned the doorknob open and was faced with a half hug from my dad. He was tall, tall looming over me, and I barely reached his chin.

"Hi Max, I've missed you," he said with a tired voice. He must be jet-lagged, I realized, next to that long drive with a rented car he needed to take. My voice muffled within his light beige jacket, I replied.

"Yeah, I missed you too dad, did you have a nice trip?" I recited the customaries as I inwardly blanched on the inside, already superlatively bored, and immediately wondering _why I care_.

"Sure, honey," he replied, taking off his shoes and socks at the door, letting go of me.

I watched him bend over in front of me. With my hands behind me back and leaning over a bit, I waited for him to finish in order to put his shoes away on the rack.

He was a slob like that; he didn't know how to keep the house clean or anything. And he thought he was special enough to just leave his stuff at the door. We always had to clean up after him.. hang his jacket up on the coat rack, put his umbrella in the catch, move his shoes to the side, put his shirt into the laundry. It was pretty goddamned irritating. And I wouldn't stand to make him sandwiches anymore, I mean, dear god, make your _own_ freaking sandwiches, why don't you?

Taking off his shoes and socks, he stepped into the living room and I followed him, the upstairs staircase directly to our left. I stood there waiting for him as he arched his neck around while another person stepped into the house as well. The kid was looking down, not even bothering to look up or check out the house he would be living in. He had behind him a vertical suitcase with wheels, and he was clutching onto the handle as he walked in, the small suitcase trailing behind him on wheels. He slid his pupils agitatedly to the side as my mom walked in.

"Max, Valencia, this is Fang," Jeb introduced, much like a car salesmen.

Well. That certainly astounded me.

"_Fang_?" I repeated impolitely, refusing to believe it. Mentally, I asked Jeb if he noticed something _wrong _with that picture and sentence, most notably the term of reference to that _noun._

Jeb threw me a stern glare.

"Yes, _Fang," _he repeated sternly, admonishing the word in front.

I had the incredible urge to ask him if a fruit bat had bit his mother's butt when she was giving birth, but decided that it'd be a bit tasteless, given the current situation. Trust me though, I had to restrain myself with all of my valiant, courageous, heroic efforts, despite that the said mother had died three weeks ago.

He finally looked up from the floor to look at me soon after I had spit out [this supposed name of his] incredulously. He threw me an unprecedented deadly glare from the side of the doorway as I stood there beside Jeb, with my arms crossed and my weight resting on one leg.

I looked him up and down once he had finally brought his head up. A glare like the one he had been sending me was a look to kill, and anyone would've been shuddering underneath that scrutinizing gaze, except me. I ignored it as I assessed him. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, and pale olive skin.

My eyes narrowed and I watched him watch my upper lip visibly lift in disgust.

Oh great, now I had to live with a freaking goth.

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Haha, I wrote this in the middle of the night, completely off my rocking chair.

I might continue this, hopefully, depending on the instinct.

**Please review, and hopefully there'll be more =) **


	2. Four Months, You Were Wrong

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Two: Four Months, You Were Wrong.**

I rolled my eyes conceitedly at him. He watched me silently, inklings of hate splayed on his face.

Oh, great, I had a prudish, _uptight _goth brother. Joy.

Absentmindedly, I wondered that if I'd grown up in one of those random dumb square states: Missouri or Alabama or Massachusetts or whatever, if I'd be such a _freak_ as well.

I turned around and decided to head up the stairs to my room; I'd seen enough. Like I said, it was whatever.

"Max? Where are you going? Get back here _this_ instant," I heard Jeb's voice resound up the stairs from below me as I lunged up to the last step on top.

"Um," I pretended to consider, "How about no?" I retorted. I rolled my eyes again as I walked down the hallway to my room. He had absolutely no power over me. Here he was trying to show our stupid dumb little guest how much power he's got.

Our little _permanen__t_ guest, I reminded myself with exasperation.

Obviously, Jeb's attempt failed, though. Most of what he does (considering me), fails epically. Uh, duh.

I could imagine his face right now, red in anger and humiliation, still staring up the staircase stairs. Seriously now, what the heck does he have to prove to some freaking teenage high school sophomore?

Who does he need to impress?

Oh yeah, I recalled.. this kid was a boy—I forgot, considering how friggin faggish he looked—and Jeb's always wanted a boy.

_Fang_?! What the heck was up with that? You cant expect me to believe for a second that that was his actual name. I wondered what type of poor tranny Jeb had been horny enough to lay, with a pregnant wife of 3 months at home. He never had taste, anyway.

Whoops, I reminded myself, poor tranny woman was poor _Fangy_'s madre. We can't hurt his dumb little goth-head feelings, now can we? (Insert incredibly fake plastered, sympathetic, empathic pout, here).

Okay. Now seriously. I needed to stop. What was _wrong_ with me? His mother _just_ _died_.

I shook my head agitatedly. Now, really, there was something wrong with me. I wasn't usually _this_ bitchy, even to Jeb. I loved playing hot/cold with him.. be nice, greet him, let him hug you, and then turn him down harshly with insults, but I didn't know why I was hating on that dumb kid for no reason.

I dunno. Maybe just cause it was pissing me off that he was _just there_.

Laying on my bed, against my mass multitude of pillows leaning behind me on my headboard, I absentmindedly twiddled around my short, calloused nails. I was never really the type to take care of them, but I liked how they looked with nail polish on. It was just too bad that I was a mess at putting it on, so Ella would always have to do it for me.

Craning my neck to the side a bit, I looked out to the side of my window. It was pretty late already, so I wondered if Iggy was home yet.

Curious, I got up and walked a few steps over the window and sat down on the window seat. I leaned my elbows over the sill and stuck my head completely out into the cool summer night air, waiting for Iggy to show up. My head stayed out there for a while, and I was relishing in the cool, chilly air, although there was a frightening disparity of the feeling of my body below my neck, which was back inside the house.

Suddenly my right ear caught the oh-so-familiar sound of plastic scraping. I smiled quietly and peacefully in the nice feeling of the wind splaying onto my face and in my nice mood, my mind finally _off_ of Jeb and Fang. I turned to look at the window sill of the house next to ours, that which directly faced my own window. I watched Iggy's head, down, as his fingers fiddled around with something at the bottom of my line of vision—he was pulling his window up.

After a few seconds, he had gotten it up, and stuck his head out dangerously. I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture with a mischievous grin.

"Hey Max," he said, grinning.

"Hey Iggy," I returned, as if we weren't talking with 15 feet of distance between us, 2 stories high up.

Iggy had been out all day, and he usually was. Sometimes, I didn't get to talk to him until he got back in the evening, and sometimes not even that—he was always hanging out with his friends, playing b-ball, getting high, whatever, especially in the summertime. We were neighbors, we were best friends, but we still had our own lives. Despite all that, we still knew everything about each other, having known each other for ages and best friends for practically twice as long as that.

"So, did he come yet?" he asked curiously.

"Yeah," I scoffed out, my voice laced with unremarkable sentiments. He threw me an unwitty gesture, willing me to explain.

"He's like, a total freak," I pointed out, "He looks like a complete frickin goth—a total fag," I continued, "and he had like, the audacity to look at me like he was going to freaking kill me or something," I ended ridiculously.

Iggy blinked. Once. Twice.

"Max, that is _so_ homophobic," he chastised.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I didn't mean it that way," I waved my hand at him, shrugging it off.

"Whatever Max, you should stop though, seriously," he said, completely dead-on. I sighed. What was with people these days? They couldn't take light humor?

"And.. I dunno," he continued, "Like you said, you don't really have to deal with it, right?" he pointed out.

Thats what I loved about Iggy. He had the most sensicle brain I'd ever met with. He'd say or reiterate the most obvious things in the stupidest voice ever, and convince the whole world of his potentially nonexistent ingenious logic.

Sometimes you needed a buddy like that. And a person like me, having a best friend like that, was a match made in sweet, sweet, lust-driven heaven.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

He was right.

"Since when was he not?" I silently muttered to myself.

"What was that?" he asked, grinning, as he thrust his ear further out his window. I rolled my eyes at him, grumbling nonsense in irritation at his right-ness.

"Nothing," I replied, still grumbling. I remember the good old days.. you know.. when _I_ used to be right.. Grah. Dumb Iggy.. smart Iggy.. what would I do without him?

"So, ya think I can meet him tomorrow?" he asked me interestedly. I threw him a skeptical glance, light coming from my room to bathe the back of my neck and head.

"I seriously doubt that. My mom is going crazy stressing out about him, thinking he won't like her, or that he thinks she won't accept him," I explained boringly. Afterall, it was what I had to deal with this _entire_ day. Iggy nodded silently at my explanation.

"So, what'd you do today?" I asked him, leaning over to rest my chin on my palm now, still looking at him from over the empty picket fencing between our houses.

"Eh, nothing much. I played some B-ball with my friends, we went to the deli," he continued, "Zack decided to pretended to mimick a hold-up, and the short Indian guy behind the counter started cowering," he said, chuckling.

"And then I jumped in and pretended to be the savior, pretended to knock him out and held his hands behind his back," he reminisced over-exaggeratedly. I mean, seriously, it probably just happened a few hours ago.

"So, we got free candy and chips." he ended cheerfully. He threw me a thumbs up with a wide, sparkling grin, proud of himself.

My head dropped, in a mixture of frustration and disbelief.. Sometimes I couldn't believe him and his friends and their antics.. but it was most-likely undoubtedly true. It was quiet for a moment, as I felt the cool air rush over my face again, I closed my eyes again, relishing in the feeling.

"So, can I meet him tomorrow?" he asked again. My closed eyes crinkled in frustration at the sound of his voice again.

"I already answered that," I said, frowning. He was ruining the nice moment playing on me, like that.

Normally someone would've been scared at the tone I'd used, but he just chuckled, as if it was something funny. That irritated me even further.

"Yeah, but you didn't _actually_ do it, legit," he explained, a grin on his face plastered at the fact that he'd annoyed me. Sometimes it seemed as if he had a dumb grin on his face 24/7, perpetually there. I absentmindedly wondered if he was even aware of it.

"Well, what do you need from me, then?" I snapped again, testily. My eyes were still closed, my eyebrows furrowed irritatedly as I waited for another nice winded breeze to pass by the side of the house.

"Naw, I mean.. you talk about him like he's some ragdoll or something, Max" he started. Irritatedly, I wondered who _exactly_ had helped me come to that conclusion?!

"He's like, _our_ age, isn't he?"

"I dunno," I said shortly and honestly. _He_ was the one who was convincing me that I didn't have to care, wasn't he? Now he was asking me all these questions. Talk about irritating.. thats the epitome of Iggy, children.

"Well, wait, when'd your.. Jeb, cheat?" Iggy knew that I hated calling Jeb my dad, and was completely wary of using the word around me.

I didnt blame him. He had to face a big screaming, shouting, trouble-fit 7-year-old Max-worthy tantrum, after he had referred to him as my dad when we were younger.

"I dunno," I lied in a short response.

"Liar," he accused.

"Yeah," I nodded serenely, affirming his right-ness. His accusation _was_ accurate, after all. (As usual). What was there to hide?

"Then when?" he wouldn't let it go. I didn't understand why he was making such a big deal over this, especially considering that I hadn't even bothered to figure out the logistics of his age myself.

"Ugh, Iggy, could you stop?" I groaned irritatedly, my eyes still closed, facing against the flow of the passing light breezes.

"Then why won't you tell me?" he demanded.

"UGH! Fine!" I opened my eyes angrily, annoyed at his disturbing my peace, "I think he's like about 4 months younger," I said after a second, doing the math and estimating in my head, after recalling what Mom had said to me ages ago.

"Oh. Thats cool." he replied. Oh. So he wanted to make friends with him.

"No, you probably won't get along with him," I replied, summarizing all the answers to all the questions. He didn't bother to reply to my quick assumption, knowing what my personality was like.

"You know, you made him sound like a little kid, like Ella's age, but he's older than I am," he said curiously after a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The carrot-red scruff there was evidence of his refusal to shave for a few days.

I opened up my slouching eyes suddenly as he said that.

"What?" I asked, startled.

"I'm born in--"

"Yeah I know," I cut him off. I was silent for a second. "He's going to be in _our_ grade," I stated, startled, just realizing it.

"Psh, well, yeah, what'd you _think?_" he asked me skeptically. He was looking at me like I was the dumbest thing to ever land on earth, "I might as well try to make it easy at school for him," he said, revealing to me his intentions from the first place, "it ain't easy to be the new kid around, especially by like, junior year, everyone already knows eachother"

"... I thought he was going to be like, a sophomore, or something," I replied after a second.

"That doesn't make _sense_, Max," he pointed out obnoxiously. I groaned.

"Ah, shaddap Iggy, I don't even care.." I said out the window to him, putting my head down into my folded arms to hide the embarrassing blush that had come over me after what he had said. Why was I blushing at Iggy? Because he was humiliating me?

"Then why were you so out of sync when you counted it out?" he asked again. When would he stop? I wondered.

"I don't _know_ Iggy, I just don't want to think about it," I snapped at him, coming to my wit's end with him, angry at him for some unbeknownst reason.

"And I don't want to deal with him," I added, after a second.

Iggy didn't say anything for a few minutes. He leaned out the window, his arms slouching out and lying in mid-air limply as the side of face tilted and lazily rested on his upper arms.

"You just hate that he's here cause of Jeb," he stated as fact. I sighed. He was right. As always.

I didn't have a right to get mad at him. I couldn't blame him. He was usually, always, most of the time.. right. And I knew it. I sighed again, loudly, watching the wind sweep it away in the dark, looming, night sky in the outskirts of LA. I wondered if it would reach the city, sweep through the streets, get stuck in a dark alley, before whipping up the side of a large dingy old building and finally find its way back up to the moon. My thoughts were trailing out of my mind as I kept mulling over what Iggy had just said. I sighed again, but I didn't watch it go this time.

"I wish you were here, Iggy," I said softly, tiredly. He was the perfect person to lean on when you were angry at life, at the world, at your dad, for having his stupid, dumb, illegitimate child you have to live with, introduced lovingly at complete utter total random.

He dealt with my temper tantrums, and my awful attitude, and my less-than-perfect personality.

It was silent for a long moment.

"Gimme a second," I heard Iggy whisper out in a voice that lacked something distinct that was usually in it. Opening my eyes, and getting up off the arms I was leaning on over my windowsill, I looked up to him directly.

I caught a glimpse of his feet and bent knees on the windowsill and I caught sight of his thin, doubled over torso as he managed to maneuvered his feet to the ridged edges of the bottom of the sill. He was planning to jump over. The light in his room wasn't on and it barely ever was, cause he didn't it.

I rolled my eyes, "Igs.." I reprimanded. He knew I was imagining the dozens of different bad scenarios that this could end up in.

"Bite me," he grumbled out as he continued to maneuver his feet out to rest against the side of his house. He turned around to catch a grip on the inside of his wall before he jumped. He could do it, I knew; he'd done worse before. He'd done it many times before, in all the years I've known him, but not all of them turned out so dandy. In the worst case scenario, his feet had lost grip on the house siding, and they'd slipped down to rest against the bottom of the window directly below mine.. which happened to belong to a bathroom.. right on the shower stall.. where my little sister, Ella, just happened to be showering.

My eyes lowered at his dumb ass behavior. He could be just being really stupid sometimes.

I wouldn't look back on it when he actually got here though. It'd be nice to just hug him for a few seconds and sink my head into shirt, with his arms around me. It'd be nice to just let him hold me, for a long while, in absolute peace and silence, with nothing there to be said. I barely got to see him during the day—he always hung out with his friends, and I was also pretty busy these days with a job this summer, so he knew I'd appreciate it. Lately these days, all we did was talk through our windows after our days were completely finished and done.

"Max, dinner!" my mom shouted up the stairs. I twisted my neck behind me after I threw Ig a threatening glance, my head was still leaning over the windowsill, watching Iggy.

"Sure, fine," I called back.

Iggy groaned loudly, already half out; he had been just about ready to jump it at that exact moment.

"Agh" he exclaimed loudly. There was no point in coming over now anyway; I had dinner. He rolled his eyes.

"Wow, talk about a large waste of energy and effort," he muttered agitatedly as he put himself back into his room completely. My facial expressions betrayed me as a small, surprised, amused smile escaped me; Iggy _never _sounded agitated.

"Aw, well, thanks anyway." I smiled gratefully.. Iggy was really, such a great friend. Who else would be willing to jump 15 feet just to hug their bitchy friend, who was in a bad mood. My stomach automatically fell as I regretted being so uncompromisable and bitchy tonight with him.

"Now I gotta go deal with Jeb and ugh, _Fang.." _I muttered, lifting up my arms to reach up to the top of the open window.

"_Fang_?" Iggy threw me a disbelieving look. I grinned widely as I mirrored it back to him, relieved that I was actually _not_ going insane, that that name really _wasn't_ normal at all, and completely happy that Iggy wasn't defending my dear little half-brother anymore.

"Yeah. I mean, seriously?" I whispered out loudly with an incredulous smile before I shut the window closed. He waved at me with a happy smile plastered on his face, and I waved back, grinning, before my curtains closed over the clear view of the plexiglass.

* * *

I'm happy. =) Thanks for all the reviews!

I'll keep going with this, if you guys keep reading it. (I know when you read when you **review**)! Hint!

The story: I placed the characters in a different setting but then decided to wonder what would happen if I retained a few components?

Clever, eh? ^__^ Naw.

Keep reading.. if any of you guys have read Let Me Help You, you know that the good stuff comes to those who wait.. =) So I hope you guys keep reading until we get into the thrilling stuff!!

I'm going to try my best to make this story seem nonconvoluted and maybe I'll win an award for persuading people to read sick things (in premise) and then like it? Lol Ah, well, wish me luck.


	3. Dinner, and Max

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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_**  
Chapter Three: Dinner, and Max**

I walked down the soft, carpeted stairs begrudgingly with dumb dinner awaiting me, with dumb Jeb and his dumb new son.

I didn't even get this. We didn't have sit down dinners, like, ever. What were we trying to _prove_? What a show.

Mom usually spent late nights at the clinic, so Ella would cook (cause I can't cook to save a life), or we'd heat up whatever Mom had made for us in advance. If Jeb was home, he'd be cooped up in his home-office working or whatever, and Ella would go up and give him his food. (Since he's like, super-dad to her and all).

And here we were, at the dinner table that no one used for anything except Ella, for doing homework. The table mats were set out perfectly and the dark rich mahogany chairs were polished perfectly to perfection. Heck.. I didn't even know we had lights especially for the dinner table, but they sure seemed shining brightly now.

I walked in slowly and took a seat, feeling uncomfortable on the unfamiliar chairs. Gosh, if this was how _I _was feeling (and I've lived here since I was 6), I wondered how awkward and out of place Fang must feel. For a second, I felt bad for him. Just for a second. But then again, I'd feel bad for anyone who had to live under the same roof as Jeb. Ugh.. Poor, pitiful me..

I wondered if he was _spawn_ of Jeb or whatever. On second thought, I changed my mind. I might as well try to take Iggy's advice and stop being so awfully, indescribably, unreasonably, hatetastic about him. Technically, Ella and I were _spawn_ of Jeb too, and we weren't all that devilur.

Well, actually.. Nevermind.

I sat down and slouched at the table, the side of my cheek resting sloppily on the base of my palm. I looked down and surveyed the area boringly, as if I'd never seen it before.

Well, sorta. I'd never actually sat here for all intents and purposes. As far as I knew, this was only used when Jeb was trying to impress some of his clients or professors or colleagues. He'd make mom cook all industrially, and she'd be sweating and working herself to the bone. We had a pretty nice kitchen, though, I had to admit. It just didn't help that I'd nearly burnt it down.. twice. Since then, I haven't been allowed to go near it.. Cough.

Anywho. This time around, it wasn't Jeb who had asked her to cook. She did it all on her own. I could tell Jeb was surprised, but quite pleased.

I wanted to wipe that cocky grin off his stupid, dumb, face.

She wasn't doing it for him--she was doing it for a poor kid who lost his parents. It must be difficult to be faced with being a replacement mom and know you won't ever actually be able to measure up. All of a sudden, I couldn't blame her for being nervous.

Man, I needed new insults for him, I thought dejectedly, staring at Jeb's face and suppressing the overwhelming urge for my face to contort into disgust. God, he was so boring. I was like, dying here. Where was the food? Where was Mom?

Speaking of which, where was that.. _Fang_ kid?

I looked around for a bit, but then gave up and turned back around, replacing the side of my cheek onto my palm. I probably zoned out for a bit for a while there, cause the next thing I knew, Mom was walking in with a wide, nervous grin on her face, holding a steaming pot of something that smelled _delicious. _

Well, I could deal with the stiff seats if I could get some of that hot, warm, home-cooking that she was so good at. Iggy was good at cooking too. At that moment, I hit an epiphany: I loved everyone who could cook. I smiled eagerly, jumping up awake once she walked in. Somewhere behind me, I heard someone else walk in from the other side as well. Fang retook his seat.

"Wow, Mom, that smells great!" I exclaimed in sheer happiness. Food was good. Food was very good.

"Yes, Valencia, I agree," Jeb said, "This looks simply delectable," he concluded. Huh, snob, I implored.

"What is it?" I asked her eagerly.

"Ah, its Roast Chicken Parmesan," she said. She smiled politely at me for a second, but inattentively, before she turned to focus on the person sitting a few seats away from me on the round rich-red mahogany dinner table, "Fang, you _do _eat chicken, right?" she asked kindly, but I could tell her nerves were getting the best of her.

Compared to her usual demeanor, she was practically shaking in her boots right now. Jeb, of course, probably wouldn't be able to tell, the dumb bastard.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice, lured out of his throat, stated politely; he had changed clothes from the long trip, but was still dressed in all black—his stupid, dumb, goth attire.

Who says ma'am? I wondered if everyone in those dumb suburbs used hillbilly words like those. Did he have an accent? I wondered quietly.

"Oh, honey, no need to call me that," Mom frowned immediately, and her face fell in worry as she placed the pot onto the table on a mat and slipped off her light green and red floral-printed kitchen mittens.

"I'm Dr. Martinez to my patients and clients, but you can call me Auntie, or Valencia," her forehead was tense in worry, as I realized that as much as she might prefer it, she couldn't expect him or ask him to call her 'Mom'. It'd be awkward, considering his _real _mom just died a few weeks ago, but it'd also be awkward to hear some guy _my_ age call my mom by her first name. In fact, it would sort of piss me off.. just another reason to hate this guy.

The boy moved his head up and then down in minuscule proportions, showing he understood, but he looked away silently.

I slouched again as I realized I might have to wait longer to actually start eating. This was pissing me off.. remind me again why we needed to have a sit-down dinner? This kid was _barely_ a guest—he'd be living with us from now on, and sooner or later he'd catch onto the fact that we aren't a picture perfect dinner-at-7 type family. Why pretend when it'll get blown eventually? I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, wondering when we'd _finally_ be able to eat.

"Max, sit up straight," Jeb ordered. Immediately, my eyes flew to him challengingly.

"Why?" I shot at him rudely, threatening him. Jeb looked like he was just about ready to implode. I always_ did_ have a competitive nature..

"Max, not now," he warned me, willing me to not make a scene. I tilted my head to side to look at him curiously, pretending I had no clue what he was talking about.

"What, now?" I asked sweetly, feigning innocence, as my eyes grew wide and clueless. Jeb looked away, thoroughly pissed off and agitated that I was embarrassing him in front of his new son. Maybe he was delicate, and emotionally sensitive, and Jeb was afraid I might influence him to turn into a son like the horrible, dreadful daughter that I am. HM.

"Valencia, is a veterinarian, and she manages a large, and successful clinic in town," Jeb announced, ignoring me and turning to Fang, whom he was sitting beside. Mom sat down on Jeb's other side, and I was an empty seat away from her, two seats away from Fang on my other side.

Mentally, I rolled my eyes again. Why did Jeb always seem like he had something to prove to everyone?

I could so, totally tell that that kid couldn't give less of a shit about that. Although she _was _my mom and all, and I _was _proud of her and all, but just saying—a normal teenager does not typically care about one's wife's merits. You can say her profession/career, inform them, and then quietly slink away to the rock that you deserve to live under. Life is much easier like that for the both of us.

He nodded acknowledgment at her, silent. Oh, _quiet_ goth boy. Gr-eat.

I turned away from them, agitatedly.

"Mom, when can we eat?" I asked her testily. She could tell I was annoyed and exasperated.

"Why don't we start right now?" she replied, smiling tensely. God, this atmosphere sucked. Just as I was about to grab the plate of mashed potatoes, Jeb's voice cut me off. I seriously wanted to behead him.

"Where's Ella?" he asked suddenly and demandingly.

"She's at her friends house," I replied quickly, my hand suddenly stopped, frozen in the air over the dinner table as I answered him, eager to reach the plate. "But you wouldn't know that," I added snarkily, quietly.

Jeb sent me a murderous look. He knew I was trying to mess this up on purpose tonight, especially.

"Well, I've been away for two weeks, Maximum," he defended himself politely and adamantly. _Well, it's not like I exactly missed you in those two weeks, Jeb_, I wanted to retort. His lips tightened into a fine line. It always seemed to me that Jeb always knew exactly what I was thinking about him.. Suddenly, Fang threw me a strange, unprecedented, antagonistic look, coupled with hints of arrogance and incredulity. I caught it from the corner of my eye, and wondered what his problem was. I looked away.

"I know," I replied serenely, sitting down with the mashed potatoes next to me, calmly scooping some onto my plate. It was fun to play Jeb with a hot-and-cold attitude. It pissed him off to no end because he didn't know how to respond to it, or deal with it. I snickered in my head, mentally.

"Why is she away _tonight_?" he asked another, still threateningly. My unhelpfully polite attitudes tend to piss him off even more. Mom cut me off before I could do any more damage by answering with another witty retort.

"Honey, she had a school project to do, a final, and has to stay really late, so I just told her to stay over and take her time," Mom cut in with her soothing, calming voice, sensing the tension in the atmosphere between us. Ella was in her last year of middle school, so school hadn't let out for her as early yet as it had for the high schoolers. Fang was silently observing the interaction with his dark eyes. I didn't know why, but I suddenly had the incredible urge to slap him silly out of that stupid quiet, emotionless coverslip. _Freak_, I thought, as I looked away from him and back at them.

You gotta love Mom. She's the only thing that keeps me from provoking Jeb enough to castrate me.

"So, Fang, you haven't ever been to California before, isn't that right?" Mom turned to ask him kindly.

He took a small bite, chewed and swallowed something off of the plate that Jeb had been placing food onto for him, before he answered. God, I thought, why can't he serve himself? He better not get used to this treatment. Which brought me to another point: why are we treating him differently if we want him to assimilate here? I mean, I hope Mom and Jeb don't expect us to change things around _for _him. _So_ not going to happen.

"No," he replied, putting his fork down with articulation.

"Well, we don't live exactly in the city, though our town is pretty busy in itself," she said, "but we'll bring you out into LA for sight-seeing sometime later this summer." She smiled at him, and I swore I saw a hint of surprise flicker on his face for just a moment before it returned to the normal, apathetic, emotionless face he had been holding for the long latter while. Well, my mom was nice, what else can I say?

"Thanks," he replied soundlessly. I wasn't sure if he really meant it. Those types of things.. were just customary. It was quiet for a moment louder, with nothing but the clanging of silver on china sounding, as we ate silently. Then, Jeb, galore, had to break that awesome, beautiful silence. I liked my food, and I liked it undisturbed, tyvm.

"So, we'll be enrolling you into John Browning State High School," Jeb said to him between a bite.

"Okay," he accepted in monotone. Not a trace of emotion passed through the features of his face.

"Max, Fang is going to be a junior, with you," Jeb said, turning to me. I nodded in acknowledgment. I was leaning over the table, stocking up my plate for a fourth helping.

"Uh, okay," I said distractedly, trying to reach the pot roast again. Jeb noticeably frowned at my reaction. Bejeezus christ, nothing could make him happy..

"What?" I asked him in confusion, looking up at him in the middle of bringing a spoonful of yellow rice to my mouth.

"Max.." he started out testily, "Why don't you tell Fang about your school?" he asked of me politely.

Pissed that I hadn't gotten the actual bite of food into my mouth, my pupils suddenly turned from Jeb to look at Fang. I put down the spoon, irritated.

"I dunno if you're into sporting teams or not," I started, "But we've got some pretty good ones. I'm on soccer, racquetball, softball, tennis, and lacrosse," I said to him.

I paused for a moment while I seriously considered something: Were goths even into sports?

Didn't they spend all their time hating life and wallowing in self-pity, occasionally thinking up ways to dress darkly? I'd expect all that stuff is time-consuming, so he must be a pretty busy kid, I concluded. I suddenly had this incredible urge to ask him precisely that, rather rudely, but Jeb's piercing glare suddenly overwhelmed me. Dear old dad, he can always tell whenever I'm about to say something naughty. I threw Jeb an equally overwhelmingly obvious, sweet, sickening smile before I continued.

"The teachers are great. Our English department is one of the best in this state," I patted myself on the back for coming up with that one. Goths wrote depressing poetry, didnt they? For like, inspiration and stuff, right?

"Uhh.. we've got a pretty good cooking club?" I offered. Maybe I'd stop being a bitch and start to like him if he knew how to cook.. It was for his own benefit. Jeb blinked at me a few times, and then turned away, back to Fang, deeming me entirely useless on this subject matter.

For some strange reason though, throughout this entire time, all Fang had been doing was sending me a menacing look, filled with all but nothing except hateful intent. I lifted an eyebrow at his reaction instinctively, wondering what the heck his problem was. He looked up at me condescendingly as Jeb spoke beside him.

"...you'll be meeting Ella tomorrow, she's almost 15, and I think you'll like her very much," I caught Jeb saying at the end, "Enrollment is at the end of August, so you can do anything you like this summer. You should try to get settled down and get used to the neighborhood, though. It's very safe and I'm sure there are many interesting things to do.." he trailed on. Man, what a bore, and he didn't even know crud about this neighborhood.. "and I'm sure Max can introduce you to some of her friends, so that you can get adjusted easily. Our numbers are written on the fridge door if you ever need us. Valencia goes to work early and usually does not come back until late. The same usually goes for me, but usually, on the weekends, I will be in my office, two doors to the right on the second floor." I felt bad for this kid. Mom put a warm hand on Jeb's forearm for a second, cutting him off.

"But, honey, don't force yourself to do anything yet. You can stay home for however long you like, and anything in the fridge is free for the taking, and if you get bored or want to take your mind off things, just tell me, and I can sign you up for a summer program around the area," Mom gently offered.

She was so much better at things than Jeb, in remarkable ways.. Jeb was forcing all these things unto him.. school and socializing._. _without even considering what he wanted to do. (I was pretty sure goth kids weren't into either).

Sometimes I wondered how she got put with such dumb scumbag like him..

Fang nodded silently and apathetically, like he was busy listening to music or something. (What did goths listen to? Heavy metal? I wondered..)

"Whenever you're ready honey.. just ask Max to show you around the neighborhood. It's really quite nice here," her eyes were soft and.. well.. motherly.

"Thanks.. Dr. Martinez," he replied in his dark, low voice, still looking down.

I saw my mom's face visibly fall in pity at the sound of his voice, and suddenly, I felt really, very terrible.

* * *

A/N:

yuppers, guppers.. all this was intro.. now comes interactions.. yey ;)

that should be.. fun.. and this story, is romance.. so yup.. i'll see how that develops..

I derno how long this story should be, I haven't decided. I derno what the rating should be, cause I haven't decided.

I put at T, just for conceptual themes, but I dunno if I'm going to embrace it, pierce it, or leave it slack.

I'm still thinking of if I want to continue it in general.

Please review and tell me what you think so far. This is my second fanfiction ever! =D

Reviews make me **_happy_**. I _write_ when I'm **_happy_**. =)

As for the questions you guys have been leaving me: Don't worry, I've read them all, and all I can say is that things will be answered soon enough.

So read and review, and tell me what you think thus far ;)

On a random sidenote: This whole goth thing that Max has going on will be explored in the next chapter. I am not an advocate of stereotypes, and Max referring to Fang as a goth, is a mindless, _nonsensical_ insult in her mind, considering she, herself, thinks of the stereotype as a joke, and stupid. By calling Fang a goth, she's calling _him_ off as a joke, and stupid. Comprende? Cool.


	4. A Goth, What?

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Four: A Goth, What?  
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"Whatever, Jeb," I said to him, rolling my eyes rather disrespectfully, if I do say so myself. I wasn't even quite sure what I was responding to anymore.

"Maximum, you most definitely_ will __not_ address me in that manner," he looked livid, but was trying very hard to keep control of his temper. It must be dreadfully apparent to you that I couldn't say the same for myself. His eyes were practically boring holes into my forehead.

Ooh, scary.

I watched his face slowly burn up with the implications of self-induced embarrassment. This was funny, I noted, this was very funny, because the only reason he was reacting in such a way is because that dumb fag—fang—whatever was here. Which was even funnier, cause who was he to us? It took me a moment.

Ah yes, brother dearest, I nearly forgot about that.

I wondered what Fang thought about this situation. Here was Jeb, bitching at me for calling him by his first name. Obviously, Fang would call him 'Jeb' too, as well, isn't that right? And technically saying that we shared one father—the gross one, you know, the one named Jeb—its nearly as if he got the easy way out just cause he wasn't raised by him. That was sorta kinda sheer bullcrap though, if you ask me—Jeb is a crap, uncompromising parent, and I had been just about ready to castrate him by the time I was four.

Fang quirked his eyebrow the slightest bit after Jeb's little statement/demand thingy, but then his face immediately returned its normal exterior that it'd held for the entirety of the dinner: cold, apathetic, uncaring, and emotionless. How boring. But me, being the Maximum Ride, with my awful temper, and even more charming personality, got pissed off at the small thing. A small eyebrow twitch it may be, it was still obviously directed at me, and pretty fucking condescending at that. Who was he to be so condescending to _me_?

Whoops. Bad Max. No cursing, Max, I reminded myself. I was in such a bad mood.. bejeesh, what was wrong with me?

What was wrong with that dumb kid sitting _across_ from me? I couldn't help but hate him; cause at the moment, he was the root and source of all of my immediate problems. We were having this stupid dinner because of _him_. I had to sit through a dumb, prolonged hour of Jeb-face-time, because of _him._

I glared at him.

Why? Cause I couldn't very well do it to Jeb.

Fang blinked uncaringly, looking up at me rather disinterestedly before going back to his plate. That made me want to snarl loudly at him. I vaguely imagined myself to sound something eerily similar to that of a hog in heat.

Everything the dumb bastard did was pissing me off. Everything _both_ of the dumb bastards were doing was pissing me off. I guess he _was_ spawn of Jeb. Or maybe I was just making him that way.

"What-_ever_," I replied eloquently to Jeb, while still glaring at Fang for no particular reason. It really annoyed me that he didn't even care some random girl he didn't know was sending him a look to murder.

"Maximum Ride, you are excused," Jeb said tightly. I blinked once, looking up at him in surprise. That meant I could leave, right? Those tv sitcoms with sit-down-dinner families used etiquette manners and words like that. I wracked my head through the anthology of bullshit knowledge I'd gained over countless years upon years of mindless, bullshit television, as I tried to remember if that was right.

Ah, yes it was, I recalled after a second of tremulous searching and shuffling around in my head. I smiled inwardly at my accomplishment, proud that my endless hours of sitting in front of the couch, watching crap television, was finally coming to some use.

"_Gladly_," I admonished at him quite honestly, cocking an eyebrow up. It was _about_ time..

I got up from that dumb stiff dinner chair with my plate and fork in one hand and was about to leave immediately, much to my relief.

But you know me, I couldn't leave without leaving a sarcastic comment behind in my wake.

"Since when do we even eat dinner together _anyway_?" I commented loudly, as I walked away.

I could practically _feel_ Jeb fuming at the dinner table, in front of Fang. Mission accomplished. Why was I being a bitch? I derno.

Maybe I was bored.

Who knows why we do the things we do?

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I trudged upstairs with immense relief, bringing my plate upstairs to my room.

My room was a pretty typical teenage-girl one. It had pink walls, though that wasn't really my doing.. Jeb is just sheer genius, you gotta give it to him. (Note the _sheer_ sarcasm). Ella got it better, and had lavender walls, and her room was a lot more.. mellow, than mine, I suppose. But that might have to do something with the fact that she bothered to decorate it and all.

Jeb had conveniently scheduled the renovation one summer while we were on vacation, kindly telling neither of us what his plans were.. he thought he'd _surprise_ us. Uh, yeah, surprise! Whoop-de-doo-what/_ever_.

At least it was large and spacious though, the biggest one on this floor, and the perks of being the oldest. Except for the pile of large, cushiony pillows lying against my headboard on the bed, it wasn't particularly personalized in the slightest. In fact, other than those two things, it was admittedly bland, but I was fine with it that way. I liked my bed best of all—spacious and comfy, and soft. Never under-appreciate your mattresses, darlings; I learned it firsthand the first time I went to this ridiculous sleep-away camp.

Our house was small and modest in comparison to some others, but it had five bedrooms. Mom and Jeb's were downstairs on the first floor, along with the dining room, giganto kitchen, and our moderately small living room. The second floor had Jeb's home office in the smallest room, Ella's, my own, and a guest room.. which would now be Fang's, I concluded in a quick calculation. It may sound like a lot, but it really wasn't—a tiny living room made up for the giganto kitchen, four bedrooms were evened out with only two small bathrooms and office, and that was about it.

I was satisfied though, since our bedrooms were pretty okay, and moderately sized. My eyes flashed back to Jeb and Fang and Mom still down there.

I put the plate on the mattress and then sat down against my pillows too, wondering what I had just done down there.

Yes, I had definitely wrecked Jeb's beautiful introduction of his oh so saintly son, but suddenly it struck me that I had ruined Mom's hard-working dinner as well. I frowned in deep disapproval of myself.. sometimes I did things that I looked back on and couldn't help but deem myself stupid for. Mom really didn't deserve a kid like me, sometimes, I thought dejectedly. I was sure I had gotten better.. its just that.. around Jeb, I just completely lose it all.

His attitude, his entire demeanor, everything tends to piss me off.. the way he walks like he should rule the earth, or that whole god-complex he has going on, where he thinks he knows better for everybody and everyone. He was just so freaking controlling, and condescending, and I just couldn't take it.

What can ya say? Our personalities clash. That was the final verdict.

I groaned loudly, taking a pillow that I was leaning against and smushing it against my face to muffle it. I didn't even feel like finishing the plate of food I'd brought up with me despite that it was only my fifth helping. (Oh. In case you didn't know, I eat like a pig. Great. Now you know).

After a moment of pointless groaning and dismal self-reflection, I shook my head out and pulled my laptop closer over to me on the bed. I opened it and cleanly scanned the screen with my eyes, moving back and forth. No new messages. Oh well. I wasn't exactly a huge social butterfly, and everyone was away for the summer. Only_ I _was stuck here, with a summer job.

I opened a new instant messaging screen, and sent a message to Iggy, asking him what he was doing now. I tapped my fingers lightly on the side of the touchpad, waiting for him to respond. I waited.. and waited.. and waited a bit longer. By this time my tapping had grown superlatively more louder, and admittedly agitated. I growled in anger.. this was _not_ helping my bad mood. I sent him another message and waited some more. And then I sent him another one—an angry one.

Frustratedly rolling my eyes, I got up angrily and stomped over to my windowpane, smacking open the curtains violently to check out if Iggy was in his room right now. Oh.. he was, except for the fact that he had insane metallic headgear on and there were sparks flying off of it.

Ig was a genius cook and all, but he was also really into mechanics and pyrotechnics. It was a sick, sick, hobby, but he did it well. Sometimes, on his spare time, he and his friends would go raid the junkyard and find things to 'mess up'. It was pretty cool though. For one of his best friend's birthdays last school year, he put together a psuedo-motorcyle for him out of the most randomnest stuff ever—like toasters and bicycle wheels and stuff. He was also an insanely good chemist, but I guess that comes with the cooking skills, although the whole bomb-making past-time he had had in 4th grade was sort of scary..

This is what I meant when I said that Iggy and I still had our own lives. Sure, Iggy and I were bestest friends ever and all, but we didn't always get to see each other all the time as we did were younger; we were alot busier now. This summer, especially, we were quite preoccupied—I had a summer job, and he was working on a project for some place in Nevada in order to spiffy up his transcript. (I really couldn't blame him, considering the record of probations and school code violations he had on his report card. Unfortunately, bringing bombs in as playthings, sorta kinda exceeds his great Chem grades).

That was probably what he was working on right now actually, I absentmindedly noticed, as I admired the flashy bright red sparks flying up from the projecting gas onto his face mask and bouncing off. Iggy was a pretty cool guy, and remarkably talented in many ways.. He was.. pretty cool.

I let go of the curtains I was holding back as I suddenly swished around, my back facing the window now. For some reason, my face felt warm all of a sudden. I closed my eyes and shook my head back and forth a few times, trying to cool it down, taking a deep, calming breath. What was wrong with me? This was _Iggy_.

Trying to shake those, dreadful, evil, wiccan, thoughts out of my mind, I hurriedly grabbed my plate, deciding to go downstairs to apologize to my mom.

As I stepped out of my room into the hallway, I jumped right in front of the steps as I heard rummaging from beside me. Slowly turning my head to side, I speculated the door to my right, the closest room to the stairs, from which the noise was coming from. This was strange. Ella wasn't home.

Oh yes. Fangalator. In the guest room.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head incredulously as I went ahead down the stairs, the plate still in my hand. Geesh, seriously, _Fang_? I seriously refused to call him that. Just cause his parents died, didn't give him an excuse to make everyone call him some stupid, dumb, naïve, self-claimed nickname to add to the effect of his fashion sense.

"What type of actual guy even _has _fashion sense?" I asked myself as I reached the bottom of the steps. Afterall, I mean, I was a girl, and obviously didn't care what I wore beyond what Ella bought for me. Then again, I thoughtfully ran through the guys in our grade in our small school, and decided to take that certain comment back. There actually _were_ guys who dressed better than I did, and cared more, and looked pretty not-so-shabby as well. I found my mom sitting at the cleared dinner table, balancing her checkbook. I frowned as I stared at her, noting how late it was, and how early she had to get up in the mornings. She had taken the day off today especially for Fang's arrival.

Did that dumb kid know how much she was putting my Mom through? She honestly didn't deserve it.. she was too kind. It made me feel all the more worse for self-admittedly ruining the dinner she had worked so hard on..

I sighed and went over to her, bracing myself to attempt the most heartfelt repenting I could ever muster for her.

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Tiredly walking back up the stairs to my bedroom, after a satisfactory talk with my Mom, I nearly jumped in surprise, startled at a figure.. just _standing_ there. It was dark, and looming, and his back was to me as he faced a door.. Ella's door, in fact.

I clutched my chest, calming myself down as I noticed it was that Fang boy. I wondered what he was doing just standing there. His pupils slid to the side to assess me for a mere moment, notified of my presence once I had jumped and gasped, but they immediately returned to their purpose shortly afterwards: staring at the door.

Lowering my eyes in stark insignificance, I wondered what he was just doing there, just staring at the door.. it was sort of creepy.. it was sort of nervewracking.. and it was sort of pissing me off, I concluded.

"What're you doing?" I asked him rudely and brusquely. He turned 90 degrees to the side to offer me his profile, but instead of answering, threw me a condescending gaze, furrowing his eyebrows skeptically, as if I should already know. Geez, I thought, he must be just like Jeb, already looking at me like he had a superiority complex.

And dude, it was _my house_ he was in right now. Turf = mine. This was getting ridiculous.

I watched his eyes observe the pale features of my face contort into ridicule. It was suddenly then that I'd noticed that he had changed. His baggy pajama pants were plain white with thin faded blue stripes down them, he was wearing a simple, nondescript, short-sleeved black t-shirt on his chest, but still—his pants weren't dark colored. Gasp.

I suppose one can't put effort into conforming to a ridiculous stereotype trend _all _the time.

It was then that I'd also noticed a small towel swung over one of his forearms, and a toothbrush in his other hand. Oh.

Oh.

He just didn't know where the bathroom was.

"The bathroom is over there," I said, pointing to a door on the corner between his room and my own, opposite the one he was standing front of, "that one is Ella's room," I said, referring to the one he was standing in front of.

I saw irritation flash in his eyes for a second before he walked past me brusquely, as if that had taken me much too long to figure out and connect the dots. Well, whatever, its not like he had actually _said_ anything.

"Thanks," I whispered snidely as he passed by me, in a ridiculously begrudged voice. Geezus, freaking christ, what was _wrong _with him? Can't I get a single thanks? I had even made an effort to be nice, and he hadn't said a word to me, whether in gratitude or not. I stared after him with disgust etched onto my face, his back turned to me, before it disappeared behind the shrugged close of the bathroom door.

A freak _and_ a jerk, talk about wow.

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It was around 7 at night, and I'd just gotten back from my shift at the ice-cream yogurt shop, Yogurberry, that I worked at. (Yes, I did indeed have to wear a ridiculous uniform). (I'll spare you the details).

I was sitting on my large, spacious, bed, facing the ceiling, as Ella did my nails. She, too, was lying flat on my big bed, but instead on her stomach.

I'd been out since 9 in the morning, and had still been late for my shift—but my schedule usually changed daily, depending on the workers available. Today had been a long, rough day, cause many people had bailed to spend their nice, summer day at a street fair festival instead, I noted dejectedly. Only I was dumb enough to not know it was happening and end up having to cover the shifts of six missing employees. My eyes drooped lazily as I lounged on my bed relaxedly and let Ella paint my nails; I was so goddamned tired.

"Was dad mad yesterday?" she asked.

"About what?" I lazily asked her, already half drooping to sleep in my dazed-out, tired, state.

"Cause I had to stay at Casey's house to finish our social studies project," she reminded me.

"Oh yeah, that," I acknowledged, "Nope," I lied swiftly.

It was better not to make her worry, and besides, Jeb had been angry at me—not her. He would never get mad at her..

Ella was practically a saint next to me, though I had to say, that wasn't really a difficult thing to acknowledge, getting compared to_ me _and my attitude towards_ Jeb_ and all.

"So, where is he?" she asked me.

"I think he's at work.." I trailed off, yawning a bit.

"No, I don't mean Dad, I mean the boy coming here to live with us," she elaborated cleanly.

"You mean his dumb, illegitimate child?" I asked her rudely, not expecting an actual answer, "Oh, I dunno," I answered disinterestedly.

"What?" she stopped painting, looking up at me surprised. I cleared my head enough to throw her a glance that asked what the big deal was.

"Mom and Dad weren't home all day today, and neither were you, and I came home at 3, but I didn't see him like, anywhere at all," she explained worriedly. I rolled my eyes. He was probably sleeping in his room or something all day, jet lagged or whatever, I told her. It was the obvious conclusion to go to.

"Oh. So whats he like so far?" she went back to my painting my nails.

"I dunno... Saw him for a second.. Dresses like he wishes he were goth or something," I answered vaguely.

"..he wishes he _were_?" she repeated confusedly.

"Yeah, I mean, thats just pathetic.. to actively _want _to assimilate into a stupid defined stereotype is just really lame," I expressed, "and also, its just _so_ fourth grade. You're supposed to grow out of that," I quipped passionately.

"Wait, so he's got all that excessive chain stuff going on and all?" she asked, letting go of my hand to clap her own fingers together excitedly. I stared at her like she was an elephant wearing a tutu, doing a pirouette to an audience of a slab of meat.

"Does he have those hot piercings too?" she asked, getting more and more excited. (Oh, did I ever tell you? For a high school freshman, she was pretty boy-crazy). (We were pretty different people).

"Um, no," I responded slowly, looking at her strangely. She was used to the strange looks I'd send her from time to time, but she frowned at what I'd said.

"Then, what does he do?" she asked me, upset.

"I dunno. He dresses really darkly?" I responded unhelpfully but honestly, shrugging and putting my head back down on the bed.

"Max, if you haven't seen him today, and you only just saw him yesterday.. how do you know that?" she asked me slowly, still upset over the lack of piercings Fang seemed to have. I ignored her question. I really just wanted to sleep right now.. I was so tired.

I knew I was being rather closed-minded and dumb at the moment, but if you haven't yet gotten the idea, I didn't_ plan _on liking the kid. It was better to call him off as something revolting and never bother with him again on that basis. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Um, Max?" Ella asked me, "Maybe he's wearing black because _his parents just died_," I sat up on the bed and blinked twice.

"Ya'know, in mourning and all?" she continued, her fingers going back to my hands and my nails.

I blinked a few times more. Great. Now I felt even more horrible.

Ella was so much like Iggy, in the whole sensible-sense. Sometimes it felt like it was just me who was incredibly unreasonable, and blind to all of it.

"You know who _does_ have an piercing?" Ella started giggling.

"No, who?" I catered absentmindedly, still deep in thought about how dumb I was.

"Iggy.." she stated blushing. Oh yeah, speak of the devil; she had a crush on him, in case you didn't know. I smiled at her warmly. He was three years older than her.

"Thats great," I reassured her, rolling my eyes inwardly. Your little sister having a crush on your best friend was just.. amusing.

Then there was the issue of treating your new half-brother-to-be like a little freak for no actual present reason.

Jeez, what was wrong with me.. I really needed.. to stop.. being such a bitch.

"He wears black cause his parents just died.." I repeated quietly. God, I was _stupid_.

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A/N:

Max decides not to be a bitch anymore? Hmm..** I wonder what that means.. **O.O How many of you mind all the cursing I'm putting into this story? I'm sorry, I can help it, but I'm just sort of naturally a potty-mouth myself, so it comes out naturally unless I go back and edit through it all. I'll put more effort into doing that if any of you guys are significantly disturbed by it.

Why is Fang being so mean to her? I wonder..

(No kidding, I gotta write this stuff out..)

So read and review, and find out! =)

Anywho, I recieved a very funny comment the other day. It goes something like this:

______________________________________________________________

_forever2yours, A new review/comment has been submitted to your story._

_Story: Something Gone Wrong  
Chapter: 2. Four Months, You Were Wrong_

_From: Danielle ()_

_Spend more time on your other story instead of writing this one._

______________________________________________________________

um, lol, well, i dunno, that just made me laugh.

how incredibly ironic it is, that I just decided to put my other story on a personal hiatus right now.. cough, lol.

(For those of you who are Let Me Help You readers, don't worry; I haven't officially announced it yet, so that means the chapters will still keep coming until I run out).

Please review, so that I can make this story better! =)


	5. Talking, and Dreadful Curiosity

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Five: Talking, and Dreadful Curiosity. **

I yawned loudly, stretching my arms high up above my head. I glanced over to the clock sitting on my bedside table. It was noon. I had a good rest, that's all I can say.. sleeping in is awesome.. 15 hours of well-needed, well-rested sleep.

Eh, sure, it felt like I had already made an entire waste of this day, but I think it was well worth it, and I deserved the sleep. I had off today, and yesterday had been one of the most tiring work days, ever.

I clutched my stomach as I suddenly felt it turn, coupled with a loud, embarrassing growl. I squeaked in surprise—man, was I _hungry_; thats what fifteen hours of dead sleep does to ya.

Clad in my pajamas, just some baggy pants and a lavender tank top, I went downstairs, my hair probably a complete mess. Eh, who cares? It was summer, and it was nice, and warm, and I was allowed to be lazy -- It was a Tuesday, but it felt like a Sunday.

I lazily opened the door of our fridge in the large, industrial-sized kitchen we owned. I perused it groggily, bending over to rummage around it a bit before grabbing a few pears and closing it shut behind me as I suddenly jumped up.

My eyes clear, and actually awake now, I stared at a tall, dark, looming teenager sitting on a stool and leaning over a bowl of cereal on the counter in front of him. He was absentmindedly bringing the spoon up to his mouth, his eyes on me, when I turned and jumped at the sight of him. Why hadn't I noticed him sitting there before? Oh yeah, cause I was half asleep walking here. He was irritating.

His head was down, his form leaning over his bowl, his eyes looking up at me apathetically as he ate. I watched his eyes lazily run over my form, first assessing the messy hair, and then the tank top that'd slid down to show off my bra, the haphazardly twisted bottoms, revealing the color of my underwear. He looked me up and down with a disinterested, bored look on his face, before he brought his eyes up to match my own again.

My face turned red. This sucked, having a boy in the house, and an eerily taciturn one at that. I turned around and self-consciously brought my hand up to pull up the neck of my tank top, fix the pajama bottoms to sit on my hips properly, and smooth out my top. This was _really_ irritating. I actually had to care about looking too immodest in my _own_ home now? It was an annoying thing I only did on the weekends, when Jeb was home. Sometimes, you just wanted to get up from bed and eat breakfast half asleep without having to care what you look like.. jesus christ, well goodbye to that, now, I thought irritatedly.

I glared, although I knew it wasn't really his fault that I hadn't been paying attention when I'd walked in here, but whatever. Either way, let's blame him for being here in the first place, freaking quiet like that.

"Geez, you guys sure take a long time to get up," I heard a voice say, coming in. Ella walked in, providing a stark contrast to me, fully dressed, groomed, and awake. She cocked an eyebrow up exasperatedly, as if she were speaking to a set of immature kids younger than her instead of her siblings, each of whom were three years _older_.

Man, that sounded weird.. _siblings-plural_. Fang and I were even too close together to be considered Irish twins. What freaks.. I blamed Jeb.

"You just wait Ella, you're going to be dead by the time you get up here," I commented in return, deciding to ignore Fang's quiet, looming, irritating, presence as I took a seat at the counter anyway, opposite the side he was sitting on, and a few seats away.

"Oh, Hi!" Ella jumped up excitedly as she walked further into the large kitchen and noticed Fang. He finally brought his head up from the counter, looking up at her curiously. He didn't have any antagonistic look splayed onto his face when he saw _her, _I noticed murderously.

"I'm Ella, Max's younger sister," she explained with a large, inviting smile on her face. She was a lot like my mom in many ways. Maybe I got all of the bad genes, from Jeb, I absentmindedly began to hypothesize.

"I'm Fang," his deep voice was lured out of throat, deep, looming and a bit husky, as he introduced himself. I threw him another glare. Sure, he was nice to her, but the first thing I got from him was a murderous glare?

"Fang?" she asked, her voice innocent and curious. Wryly, I noted how different my reaction to his name had been in comparison to her inviting, nice one. Jeez, I sure had a lot of flaws in my personality.

"Yeah," he responded, nodding slightly, still looking up at her tentatively. He didn't send _her_ a death glare, now did he? This kid was pissing me more and more off by the second.

"Wow thats really cool!" Ella exclaimed happily. Ugh, that made me want to throw up.

"Sure.." I commented loftily, eloquently holding a hint of sarcasm and a touch of skepticism; I looked to the side offhandedly.

I heard a sharp pull and a prickling on my neck as Fang's neck turned quickly to send me another death glare. Ella's eyes widened as she saw the murderous look on his face. I turned my head back to face him and give him an equally intense glare.

"Uhm.. guys?" Ella asked slowly, staring at us glare at one another, "What's with you guys?" she asked hesitantly, looking unsure and wary of us. Well, that was Ella for you—the universal pacifist, sort of like my mom. The only problem was that she was just a bit too young for that to work completely properly. Her curiosity sometimes got the better of her. I wondered if I was the same way when I had been a freshman. Naw, I realized, I was too busy hating Dad.

Ooh, coinkidink! I was _still_ busy hating dad. This_ sweet_, adorable, lovable little kid right here, that I was sending a sweet, adorable, _loving_ death glare to, wasn't helping Jeb's case at all, either.

"Oh, come on, Ella, do you really expect me to believe his name is _Fang_?" I whipped my head to her, asking her the question severely skeptically. It was meant to be a rhetorical question too, but _someone_ obviously had too many rocks in his brain to _understand_ that.

"Speak for yourself, _Maximum_," I heard Fang utter out, still staring at me, his deep, dark eyes boring holes into my skin. Maybe that was another hereditary skill that he earned from Jeb, you know, next to be an annoying, agitating _prick _and all.

I threw him another glare.

"Who named you? A cow?" he retorted, smirking. My glare suddenly receded in surprise, as I blinked a few times. It was the first time he'd spoken to me since he'd come here, already two days.

It was silent for a few seconds as I kept on staring at him. His smile.. was startling. His eyes were looking at me playfully, meant to be mean. I guessed that had been why he had thrown me such an incredulous look at the dinner table, after Jeb had called me by my full name.

"That would be dear old Dad," I replied eerily serenely, my face wiped of mostly all ill-intentions. I continued to look at him. He wasn't the only one here who could ignore and undermine the rhetorical nature of rhetorical questions..

I continued to stare at him, observing him for the first time since he'd gotten here.

..He didn't really look like Jeb nor myself, at all. He didn't have the grey eyes that Jeb had, nor the chocolate brown ones I had gotten from my mom—his eyes were deep, obsidian black, like his hair. He didn't have the light brown, blonde hair that Jeb and I shared either, but the pallor of his skin tone nearly matched my own. He didn't really look like_ any _of us here, save for his skin tone, I noted. I wondered if his mom was italian or something, cause he sure looked it.

"So I guess you're not completely wrong," I admonished.

Fang seemed to blink in surprise as well, although it only flashed on his face for a moment before it returned to apathy, probably surprised at the lack of a hostile attitude radiating from me. Ella watched the exchange worriedly. She turned to him, with an unsteady grin on his face, probably going to try an attempt to salvage our relationship by means of distracting it.

"So, Fang, do you like it here so far?"

Fang looked up at her, his face completely blank.

"I dunno," he said to her.

"Oh, so you didn't do anything yesterday?" she asked curiously, wondering why she hadn't caught sight of him then.

"Sleep." he answered shortly, his low, deep voice, resounding off the walls in our large kitchen, ones we had gotten retiled the last time I had burned it down.. Cough.

"Wow, the jetlag must be pretty bad, huh?" she urged him to continue. She sat down across from him, a few seats away from me, placing her chin on her palms as she perused the conversation. Why were things so hard for me in comparison to her? Why did I have to go and be so irritable and angry at him-- some kid I didn't even know?

"He's from one of those hillbilly states," I said to her, "Far, far away," I continued, "You know, one of those square ones, in like, the middle, or whatever," I was answering her question before she even said it out loud, "Like Idaho, that potato-making state," I nodded knowledgeably. She looked confused for a second, and opened her mouth to say something before Fang cut her off.

"I'm from _Massachusetts,__" _he stated slowly and venomously, throwing me another stare to kill.

Jesus Christ, didn't he know how to do anything except look at people like he was about to murder them? Before I knew it, the words had slipped out of my mouth. (This, my children, is why you should refrain from thinking bad thoughts at all—something I completely, utterly, fail at doing).

He threw me another narrow-eyed glare once the words had unknowingly escaped my mouth. I smirked the tiniest bit at that. Keeping things in is actually quite unhealthy for you, did you know?

"Max.. Massachusetts is like, not really a hillbilly state," Ella said slowly, quirking her eyebrows up at me strangely.

"Yeah.. and its not a square either," Fang interjected smoothly, "but I suppose you weren't able to tell," he stated idly in a monotone manner.

Oh, crud, that certainly got me mad. I felt my face burn up in anger.. he was calling me _stupid_. That he thought I was stupid from the _first_ place. That I don't know what a freakingarse _square_ looks like.

My fists reached the table with a small noise on impact as I prepared to stand up in anger, about throw a bazillion different remarks at his face. But before I knew it, he had swiftly stood up, placed his dish in the sink, and walked away. I stared after him, after his exit, suddenly dumbfounded. Ella blinked after him too, also surprised at his sudden leave.

I heard the front door shut somewhere behind him somewhere in the distance, and I absentmindedly wondered where he was going. I hadn't shown him around the neighborhood yet, but he probably didn't want me to, I thought wryly. He was probably off, wandering around, I realized, like most guys do. Heaven hope he doesn't get lost, although I couldn't honestly say I'd miss him if he did.

I yawned once more, stretching my arms up behind me before I got up and placed my dishes in the sink, planning to walk upstairs and then get dressed. Maybe I'd see if Iggy was free today, or go by Caroline or Nudge's houses. Summer was good.

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A few hours later, I had finished up some chores around the house and got dressed, intending to go over to see if Iggy was free today. We hadn't hung out in ages.

What I saw though, as soon as I stepped out of my front door, needless to say, surprised me.

Iggy and Fang were standing there, a ways off to the distance, talking. Not so surprisingly, Iggy had his large, signature, mischievous grin splattered onto his face while he spoke animatedly, making large, obscene hand gestures. I noticed Fang sway a little bit as he laughed at something Iggy said. They were casually standing somewhere outside the picket fencing that divided our houses. I observed the sight and immediately grew irritated. Angrily, I stomped over to them.

Alerted of my presence by the loud stomping coming from the direction that the steps of my house were in, Iggy suddenly looked to me and waved as I came closer. He slid his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose, and I could see the crinkled lines on the corners of his eyes, coupling his grin.

"Hey Max!" he called me over loudly, exaggeratedly waving his arm. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I stomped over, rather god-zilla-esque-like, if I do say so myself. You couldn't blame me.. what the heck was he doing with _Fang_?

"Haha, hey Max, this is Fuh-nick, he just moved here," Iggy introduced happily.

I threw him an incredulous look, my eyes dropping, and asking him if he was _actually serious_.

"What?" I snapped at him confusedly.. what the heck was he talking about. Suddenly Fang spoke up.

"Dude, dude, Nick, Nick, its Nick," Fang seemed to admonish exasperatedly. I threw him another funny look too. What the heck was he talking about?

"Iggy, what are you _talking_ about?" I decided to ask him, impatiently, while throwing Fang another glare that he decided to tastefully avoid as well.

"I dunno, when he first told me his name, he messed up and said something like Fuh-nick.. it was pretty funny, and I think I like it better," Iggy explained grinning as he punched Fang on the shoulder. Fang brought his hand up to hold his forehead in frustration. Nevertheless, I ignored it. I jumped on him immediately.

"Your name is _Nick_?" I spat out with a glare. Fang finally turned his head to acknowledge my presence.. About time. Here he had made such a big deal over me not believing it, and I had been right after all! What a freaking, obnoxious, git..

"If it is or it isn't," he replied to me coldly, "whats' it matter to you?"

"Woah, woah, woah" Iggy started, raising his arms up in surprise, "You guys know each other?" he asked curiously. I threw him another glare while I was at it.

It felt like all I'd been doing these days was throwing glares. Living with Fang was certainly tiresome.

"I'm _living _with her," Fang explained torturously. Iggy suddenly, and unexpectedly, doubled over, clutching his stomach. He was practically having an aneurysm on the cement, laughing his ass off as he rolled around, half on the grass. I looked past Fang's comment as Iggy's behavior beckoned my immediate attention. I reminded myself to go beat up Fang later for the tone he'd used. I mean _really_, was I that awful to live with?

Wait, don't answer that... but, in any case, it's only been a few days. I turned to Iggy.

"Whats wrong with you?" I asked, sheer surprise laced into high crevices of my voice.. Was he okay? I watched him roll around a little bit more.. it was pretty over-the-top.

Finally, getting sort of annoyed by it all, I leaned down a bit, and Fang watched me punch him harshly.

"Ouch," I heard him sound out behind me. Well, what can I say? I was a pretty good at it.

Iggy stopped wiggling around and finally sat up on the pavement, still holding his stomach. A few breaths escaped his throat as he tried to catch his breath between the escaping remnants of laughter, rubbing his shoulder where I'd punched him. I turned back around to face him again.

"Ahhaha.. ha.. ha.."

"Iggy, do you want me to smack you again?" I threatened again. He immediately straightened up.

"No, thank you," he responded quickly. He propelled himself forward to stand up, clearing his throat, his face still red with laughter. Seriously though, I was getting worried, what was wrong with him?

"Hah.. Fnick.. the conceited blond bimbo.. is _Max_?" he broke up into laughter again. It took me a moment to figure that sentence out.

"WAIT, WHAT?!" I screeched loudly. I turned immediately to look at Fang, who was standing there, still watching the collapsed Iggy on the floor, looking rather bored.

"I told him I was living with some conceited blond girl," he graciously informed me in utter monotone, still watching Iggy crack up. At his comment, Iggy found himself back on the floor again, clutching his stomach in laughter.

As you may have already guessed, that got me screeching again. My face was flaming, and I was just about ready to strangle him. I was making my way to Fang, cutting the two feet of distance in a flash, before Iggy jumped between us, getting Fang into a choke-hold that was something vaguely reminiscent to a guy-hug. Fang's eyes widened for a millisecond at the impact, but then gradually returned to its normal, emotionless, demeanor.

"Haha, my man, you are even awesomner now," he complimented, smacking him on the back appreciatively. Fang jerked forward at the obviously unexpected impact. Iggy was cleverly blocking my view of Fang with his tall height, inches on me, and thin, broad shoulders, in order to keep me from castrating him. Unfortunately for him, he had conveniently forgotten that he was just as much at fault.

I grabbed hold of the lean back that I had been facing, jumping onto Iggy and making him collapse to the ground. Fang's eyes widened for a second as he watched me throw hard blows on Iggy—ones he seemed to be quite skillful at dodging, even while laughing hysterically. It was frustrating me that Iggy thought this was some joke.. and all I needed was my best friend to make friends with the irritable boy who seemed to be my new mortal enemy, and who oh-so conveniently happened to be living in the same _house_ as me.

Iggy kept on laughing, his head laying on the grass of our small front lawn, as he dodged the blows. I was leaning over him, my knees on either sides of his waist, repeating the words 'blond' 'bimbo' and 'bitch' over and over again questioningly with each try at a hit. Fang seemed pretty amused at our antics, but in the short second in which I'd turned to look at him, feeling a prickling gaze on the back of my head, I suddenly found our positions flipped, suddenly finding myself beneath Iggy.

Iggy was admittedly weaker than I, but he had my arms pinned to one side as he leaned over me on the grass. I was struggling dangerously, being superlatively uncooperative, but I gotta admit that I was in a pretty vulnerable position right now, his longs legs leaning over me, on either sides of my hips. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for what was coming, but instead it didn't come.

I slowly opened my eyes to see Iggy sitting upright as he casually slipped his sunglasses off. He then slowly leaned forward to bring himself closer to me, bending his torso down to me. I watched his face come closer, and closer, and closer.. until he was about two centimeters away from skin-on-skin contact with me, on the face. He blinked a few times, the perpetual smile that always seemed to be there wiped off his face, as he stared at me apathetically. I blinked too, self-consciously, feeling quite nervous for some reason. It wasn't altogether unexpected though, because that was another thing about Iggy— he was legally blind. I felt my heart beat up faster, wondering when the last time was that we'd been so close to one another, and wondering what the _heck_, exactly, that he was doing.

"You're pretty cute when you're angry," he said curiously, his pupils still running up and down my face.

I felt my mouth subconsciously open a few centimeters in shock at what he had said, before I decided to suddenly jerk upwards, throwing him off of me. He fell off to the side, landing on his butt, watching me carefully as I got up and walked away from him. I went back into the house with my freshly laundered jeans now completely dirt-covered, and my face burning a bright red. What was _wrong _with him?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fang watch me leave, something curious written on his face as well.

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A/N:

Yuppers guppers.

Well, I'm happy. =) Happy me = happy writing = happy chapters =actual _writing_ = chapters =_ updates_ !

Guess why?**_ Reviews_**!! Thanks! =DD

On another note, I really like writing this story cause its so much less controversial than Let Me Help You, which is apparently big hit, but still. The comments I get on this story are really nice and bubbly and innocent and stuff, whereas the ones I usually get on Let Me Help You sorta kinda tend to somehow, weirdly, _scare_ me. Isn't that weird? Haha. I'm pretty weird.

It only sorta scares me because people tend to be **so** serious in their demanding of more chapters. It makes me go.. "O.O".. They're usually less well-informed reviews than the ones I'm getting on this story as well. They tend to review, just _demanding_ that I update, rather than commenting on the chapter. =(

Nevertheless, I appreciate EACH and EVERY single review :)

Okay. I think I take my first assumption back.. thinking about it more carefully, this story is definately more controversial in.. _premise._

At first I thought it was because the other one is M, but then I realized that the reviews I get on this story are so much more bubbly _because_ I haven't yet hit any controversial issues on this one **_yet_**. Well.. if any of you who are reading are disappointed, don't be. It's coming soon.. this story is going to get _intense_, it definately will.

_I hope to make you guys fall head over heels for it, _even though_ its such an icky subject. _

I was admiring all the awesome reviews and basking in the warm, fuzzy feeling I was getting, but then I thought, Oh crap, I'm going to have to write intense stuff _eventually_, won't I? Sigh. I always get incredible urges to write about slightly daring issues, but it seems so difficult for me to actually do it; The scenes aren't the big deal, its the whole _building up to it_, that I stress over. I really try to make things seem realistic. Like, I can't stand sudden developments, like oh, suddenly they kiss for absolutely no particular reason and just immediately fall in love, or something like that.

Cause scenes are _never_ the big deal. I've noticed that you can have crap writing, but as long as you set it up properly, people will drink it all up like tea. I've noticed authors do things that are very OOC, but it still works, because they _set it up_ properly.

Sigh. Its not really stressing though. I just hate _not_ doing something complete justice. Perhaps the reason my chapters tend to be on the long side, is because I'm just prolonging the inevitable in the hopes that some gradual development will occur which will make it easier for me to write.. its like, like, mentally preparing myself for what I know I have to write.. like, like, impending doom. O.O

Perhaps thats the reason I put Let Me Help You on hiatus.. its cause i'm just too scared of writing what I know is to come eventually.. I need to mentally prepare myself for it, so that I feel like i can do it justice.. Hm.. Self-reflection is a horrifying, crudely eye-opening thing, children..

**Ah.. you can help alleviate the stress.. Review! =) **

It'll make my chapters better! Softer to the eye.. ;)

It'll make my chapters.. existential.. lol.


	6. You're Daring

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Six: You're Daring**

I stomped back into the house angrily and continued to stomp up the stairs. (Angrily as well, you may have already presumed).

Stupid, stupid, dumb boys, and their stupid, stupid, dumb games. Gah, I hated boys..

That night Iggy had slid up his window, wanting to talk. Begrudgingly, I went over to the windowsill and sat down, hearing what he had to say.

"Haha, Max, sorry about that, I just wanted to see what you looked like," he explained heartily, rubbing the top of his head with the back of his wrist awkwardly. I blinked at him, a few times.

"Okay." It was a short, sweet, simple sentence, apathetically said.

Any dumbass could figure out that I didn't really mean it, but then again this was Iggy—he believed what he wanted to believe. Him coming to me and apologizing was just doing me a favor.. more like, it didn't really mean much, cause he didn't really care. I could read that kid like the back of my hand, now if _only _he could do the same.. then I wouldn't have so many troubles in my life.

Just kidding. He was pretty useful, when you needed him though. Ignoring all that and putting it aside, he leaned over further, the gracious grin still spread on his face, like everything was just normal, fine, and dandy all over again. I rolled my eyes..

"So, Fnick is pretty cool, isn't he?" he said excitedly. It wasn't really a question, I mean come on, really, did you really expect an answer from me?

"What? Nick?" I turned, peevedly, "why'd he tell you his name is Nick?" Iggy blinked a few times in surprise.

"I dunno," he shrugged, closing his eyes in insignificance. I rolled my eyes again.. what _did_ he know?

"I know that he's awesome at this stuff, too," he replied excitedly, his eyes holding a glimmering sheen, as he pointed over his shoulder back into his room. I realized that I had asked the question out loud..

"He's into.. pyrotechnics?" I asked him curiously.

"Naw, I mean, I don't think, really," he continued, "but he snapped something together and fixed something I've been trying to figure out for ages," he expressed, nodding his head in admiration. Well, great, thats just perfectly fucking dandy. My best friend was getting tight with my awful half-brother, the crap one that thought I was a conceited and mentally impaired.

"Okay.." I replied, obviously disinterested. I turned my head to the side, sitting on the palm of my hand.

"Well.. I'm gonna go now.." I said offhandedly, moving away to shut the window and place the curtains over them.. Iggy stared at me for a second longer, apathetically, the large grin no longer on his face, and nodded hesitantly a few times. I looked back at him for a second before turning away and walking back to my bed.

I threw myself down onto it, head first, feeling completely and utterly agitated.

The days went by gradually. Ella was busy hanging out with her friends, I was busy going to work almost every day, Jeb was cooped up in his home office on the weekends and out on the weekdays.. things passed by normally.

Fang.. had been spending most of his time outside too..

Hanging out with Iggy and his buddies, I noted irritatedly..

We barely saw one another, so I suppose the death glares had generally receded. He usually hadn't gotten up by the time I'd leave for work, so no ugly breakfast interactions, and I'd usually take dinner upstairs instead of eating with him and Ella.

It was pretty okay though, I guess. He was exactly what I'd wanted him to be—just, whatever. He had no real need to assimilate with a family that he only had to live with for two more years, until he could hold custody over himself. Although, although.. he had no real need to assimilate with this family, I guess he wasn't such horrible company, cause afterall, Ella and he got along pretty well.

I just generally ignored him when he was around. He just didn't care. Thats how it went between us.

I hoped it'd stay that way, even when school started.

At least, it was better that way, except for the fact that he kept getting on my nerves.. except for the fact that my nerves were pretty easy to _get _on.

But, I mean seriously! You can't blame me!

Iggy was hanging out with _him_ more than he was hanging with _me_. And hello.. _I _was his best friend.. or.. I was supposed to be..

Filling another raspberry-berry cup with strawberry-orange ice-cream yogurt souffle, I sighed. I guess we weren't really best friends anymore, and it wasn't entirely his fault either. Sometimes, I didn't know what I wanted, or didn't do the things to get what I wanted. It was a dreadful, horrible, vicious cycle, but unavoidable for a personage like me, I noted dejectedly, as I handed the cup to a customer over the counter.

I rung her up and took the money from her hand, handing her the exact change. My mind was running on rewind, and everything I was doing at the precise moment was perfectly manicured and practiced from beforehand. It was a test of muscle memory: to focus on one thing, while concentrating on another. However, I'm not so perfect, and my thoughts got the better of me, as a flavored yogurt cup suddenly slid out of my hand and dropped to the floor. I stared it for a while longer, smushed up against the ride tiled floor of our colorful part-time shop.

Sighing, I rolled my eyes, going to the back to grab a mop after telling Tom to take over the counter for me.

It was annoying me that my new, completely _random_ little brother was hanging out with my best friend more than I was nowadays. It was pretty freaking pissing me off.. but I supposed I couldn't help it. Iggy and I weren't as close anymore these days.. maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was a girl, and that he was a boy.

I had to admit, I'd been embracing my girliness a lot more since entering high school, but you really couldn't help it. Wearing baggy shirts just didn't work anymore; they just made you look overweight, when draped over all of your curves. And just that small change of wardrobe opened so many new doors.. cause I guess, if you were used to one thing, you started to get dramatically used to a lot more..

I was a girl, and he was a guy. And guys get along with guys, which Fang was—another guy.

I can't believe I was jealous of that dumb kid, who would only wear black.. Gah. In the middle of the summer too.. My irritation was overwhelming me as I smashed the mop down onto the gross display of yogurt sitting on the floor. Somehow.. I didn't think this whole cleaning-up thing was working out quite so well..

"Um.. Max?" I looked up at Tom with a murderous look, still in the midst of my thoughts. He looked down the mess I was making worse on the floor.. I followed his eyes to look at it too..

"Maybe you should take the day off.." he said to me humorously. I sighed agitatedly at him and threw my apron off before I trudged away dismally to the back to pick up my stuff.

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Tom picked the wrong day to let me off early.

My eyebrow was twitching, in irritation or surprise, I didn't quite know for sure, but it definitely _was_ doing something funky on my forehead.

I was standing there, still clad in my ridiculous uniform, faced with about 40-odd well-dressed people people milling about in and around my house, coming in momentarily for a few minutes before going back out into our backyard again.

What the _heck_ was going on here? I was _not_ in the mood for this.

I stomped over to Jeb, who I saw smiling and laughing heartily with my mom, a champagne glass in his hand—and we didn't take those things out more than, like, twice in a decade.

"Mom.." I started threateningly, looking quite like a spoilsport, if I do say so myself, with my crossed arms and tantrum-ready expression. She was dressed well, in a light, breezy sleeveless dress—professional while still appropriate for a summer party. Why were we having a party.

"Oh, Max, honey," she exclaimed, startled at my sudden, growling, irritable, presence, "I thought you had work today, honey, you should get dressed," she whispered into my ear, "We have guests over, its one of Jeb's deal breaking parties." She turned my around by my shoulders and directed me to the stairs so that I could pick out some nice clothes to impress his clients with.

You _must_ be _kidding_ me. Dear, frickin, god.

So there I was, walking down those dumb dreaded stairs to the party downstairs, full of people I hated and couldn't care less about, yet forced to act well-mannered for the sake of my Mom.. Afterall, she loved Jeb, for some _strange_, unfathomable, _inexplicable_ reason.

After saying hi to the right amount of people, flanked by my dear mother and positively _stellar _father, I was allowed to take a break, going over exasperatedly to sit on a lounge chair by our small, modest pool, where many people were milling about around.

I sat down with a large sigh, relieved to finally be under the shade, beneath one of those beach/umbrella chairs. I sighed deeply and took a sip of water from a martini glass with a slice of lemon placed onto the edge.

"What is this thing?" I jumped at the sudden, brusque voice speaking to me. My heart still jumping, I turned to my right to see Fang sitting there, laying on the pool chair right beside me, sunglasses adorned on his face.

I observed him scornfully.. well _he definitely_ wasn't dressed appropriately for this occasion.. but I was guessing that somehow he got away with it since he was a guy.. He was wearing a neat dress shirt, untucked, over a pair of black swimming trunks.

"Could you _stop_ that?" I asked him irritatedly.

"Stop what?" he replied snidely, "Breathing?" I was just about to nod, ready to throw back another witty remark about that before he cut me off, answering his own question: "You wish."

He was right. I sure did, very well _wish_. Too bad I've never had very good luck with those things. Perhaps thats precisely the reason why I tend to be so pessimistic sometimes—in the high hopes that things won't go my way and thus, good things should happen.

But I'm starting to think that I should stop.. the whole reverse psychology is getting too ahead of me, and recently these days, I've been finding myself at a standstill—neither here nor there, but nowhere in particular. Nothing _happens_, and consequently, I'm unsure of what truly does. It was finally hitting me how self-destructive my attitudes, words, and actions really were to me.

I've heard it said that wishing only wounds the heart and I'm starting to think that it's true. Wishes lead to daydreams and when those daydreams don't play out exactly as wanted, they lead to heartbreak. Maybe thats why I hate Jeb. Maybe thats why I haven't spoken to Iggy in a week. Maybe thats why I was the _only _person in this goddamned household (and out) who couldn't get along with Fang. What was wrong with me? How many times had I asked myself this question in the past month? How many times have I gotten irritated, how many times have I felt like killing someone, smacking someone, growling in agitation, gotten annoyed at simple things? It was countless, and it was a vicious cycle of destruction. I needed to stop.

My head, feeling like it was completely detached from my body, slowly turned to face Fang. The glare that had been on my face slowly receded as I stared at him and tried to remember what had gotten me so wound up. He stared at me blankly as well, radiating a look that implied that I might as well be off my rocking chair.

"What do you want?" I asked him again, emotionlessly. He stared at me for a moment longer, before tilting his head away from me, looking up at the sun and squinting beneath his dark, black sunglasses. The sky was getting cloudy. Business pool party should be over soon, I hoped in relief, once the rain came pouring down.

"What is this thing?" he repeated in monotone, gruffer this time, quieter, and looking away from me.

"Jeb's trying to poach in more clients," I replied emotionlessly once again. My mind wasn't there. It was somewhere far, far off in the distance, thinking about other things in another word. Dismal self-reflection: I'd suggest not to try it at home kiddies, but its better than doing it in the middle of Route 40.

(Whats Route 40? No idea, but its used pretty often to reference random places in the middle of nowhere, I'm guessing. This is my years of television experience coming back into play, darlings).

Fang heard me, but didn't respond. Would it kill him to not act so blasé and dead half the time? I'm sorry, but I really don't think we would ever get along with one another. Like Jeb, our personalities clashed. I wasn't like Ella or Iggy—I couldn't urge conversation out of someone out of genuine interest, and I couldn't goof off with someone I couldn't give less of a shit about. People need to make efforts with me, and if they don't, then they might as well starve in a pit for all I care or know.

And even then, knowing me, I probably wouldn't take those efforts graciously either. There are so many types of people out there, so how do you know which ones to trust and get to know? This is what I mean. Self-destructive behavior, paranoia, irritability.. God.

So thats what I was absentmindedly mulling over, sitting on the side of pool chair, while facing Fang, who was lying down on his own.

"How do I ditch this joint?" he asked me quietly. I stared at him uncaringly.

"You wait it out."

"I never thought you to be the tolerant one, Maximum."

"You don't even know me."

"Of course I do.. sis," he said slowly, turning to me.

He slipped his sunglasses off, handing me an clear assessment of those deep, dark pupils. However, all it made me do was make me feel like smacking his face into next Sunday. Eh.. to each his own.

"I'm going," he stated, getting up off the chair he was laying on. The world snapped back into perspective as I finally registered what he was saying. I threw him a glare. Wow, I hadn't done that in a while.

"No you're not. Jebs' going to be mad," I threw at him in a furious whisper.

"Since when do you care?"

"I don't."

"Let's go then," he monotoned, standing up in front of me, as I sat down on the lounge chair. I stared up at him standing against the blinding sunlight.

"Why do you need me to go?"

"I don't know this neighborhood. And you don't care about Jeb, remember?" My face grew warm, in adamant denial. Provocation was also my weak spot, and I was well aware of it.

"Fine," I spat out. I got up and walked past him, swiftly sidestepping him to getting in front.

Looking both ways and not bothering to look back to see if Fang was following me, I silently slipped to the side of the house from the backyard. I kicked open one of the fencing stands surrounding our yard and casually bent down—which was a difficult thing to do in the dress I was wearing—leaning up again to get out.

I heard another smack behind me as Fang followed, sunglasses still on his face. I turned around to face him.

"We're out."

"I've realized. Now how do we keep from getting caught?" he seemed unfazed and still seeming to be questioning my intellectual capabilities.

Jerk. I ignored it.

"I think this is the most I've heard you say in ever."

"Well, you don't really know me.." He tilted his head to the side self-appreciatively. I threw him another bored glare, asking him what point he was trying to make here.

"Let's go," I sighed exasperatedly, turning around and walking away.

Not really caring if he was following me or not, I led us to a playground a few blocks away. It was a playground that I'd grown up on in my early elementary years. Nowadays, we didn't come here often, as it was taken over by more deserving, younger toddlers. The sky was cloudy and the day was dark, filled with looming cumulus clouds overhead, so their mothers had probably ushered them away quickly.

It was dark, it was empty, but there was something dewy in the air that made me want to cry.

I didn't of course, but I'm just saying.

Sometimes I could get poetic on you. You never know whats coming from me. Usually, I don't know it myself.

I sat down on a swing, rocking myself back and forth gently, still deeply immersed in my own thoughts. I saw Fang walked past me, to perch himself ontop of the monkey bar handles. He sat, high up there, his back to me, as he stared out into the sky, the sunset fading in front of him, overcome by dark, cloudy air.

I stared at his back absentmindedly as I leaned against the side of the linked chain the swing seat was supported by. There must be a lot of sorrow in him, I imagined.

I couldn't see his face, but from the posture of his back, and the way that he was holding himself up.. I knew that he must've been thinking about something lightyears away from us.

I didn't know what his parents had been like.. and I didn't know if he missed them. I didn't know if he hated being here—though it seemed that way whenever he spoke to me, although he was perfectly civil and polite around Mom, and Ella, and Jeb. I didn't know anything about him, yet I was hating him. God, was I effed.

His back was strong and tight as he leaned his head back to look straight up into the sky. Following his movement, I tilted my head back up to look up as well, but too soon found myself closing my eyes in the feeling.

I didn't want to look up. The sky was endless. There were just too many things out there. I closed my eyes to feel in and alone in myself. The air embraced me.. and I was embracing the world.

I felt speckles fall onto my face, but I kept my eyes closed, still looking up into the bright, bright sky.

"Max, get up," I heard a quiet, uncompromising demand come from above. I suddenly opened my eyes, to find myself not in a bright, sunny day all alone, but a cloudy evening, showers just beginning, with a dark looming figure standing over me.

"Why?" I shot back at him, confused and irritated. His bangs were falling over his forehead and eyes. He pointed at the tunnel in the play set before he turned his back and me and walked towards it. I got up and followed him, still dazed out from my daydream.

I started to feel chilly as a few more raindrops splattered onto my shoulders tastefully, much more heavy this time. I ducked inside following him where he had led.

"What am I doing here?" I asked him, agitated.

"It's raining, oh intelligent one," he responded wryly.

"I can see that, and I can take care of myself," he watched my eyes send flames in his direction.

"If you get wet and catch a cold, you're going to blame me," he replied boredly, as if he knew he was right. I felt like exploding. Who was he to tell me what I was going to do? _But he's right_, a little voice inside my head said to me.

Agh. It was true. I probably would blame him if I got sick, for making me escape that little party of Jeb's. I looked away from him, still feeling slightly wet and cold, staring outside the opposite opening of the tunnel to watch the rain pour down. It was quiet for a moment, as suddenly the showers receded, only for the heavy rain to come thundering down. All around us were noises of droplets smacking against the playground material and resounding and rebounding off of the equipment.

Sighing, I put my head down to my knees. We'd have to wait here for a while.

"Whats with you and Jeb?" his deep, cool, voice monotoned quietly. It sounded really far away, but he was just sitting two feet away from me, facing the wall of the cylindrical tunnel that I was leaning against.

I turned to face him. Well, he was certainly the chatterbox today, wasn't he? It was okay. I could go on a rant about this question.

"Are you kidding me?" I spat at him passionately, before I continued, answering my own question, "He's completely ridiculous," I began to count his demeaning qualities on my fingers as I listed them. Fang slowly turned his head back to watch me.

"He's controlling, demanding, presumptuous, easily irritable, completely obsessive-compulsive, moody--" I was on a roll, but Fang cut me off.

"You mean everything that you are?" he asked boredly, looking away to the other end of the tunnel. My cheeks flamed.

But then they softened. I wouldn't get anywhere by exploding at him. Taking a glance outside of the tunnel, I realized that we'd be stuck here for a while longer. And I couldn't help it if he thought I was a conceited bitch.

"I dont know about how your dad.." I paused for a second, wondering how much I'd be prying by saying this, but then decided to throw in the towel and take the risk. It obviously couldn't hurt anything we currently had between us.

".._was_, but Jeb is someone that I really can't get along with," I let out in a breath. I waited for his face to betray any emotion, but he didn't move, so I continued, still watching him carefully.

What was I doing? Yes, purposely saying things relating to him in order to elicit a reaction from him.

"My mom.. would probably hate me, if she knew how I'm treating you.." I started, but then changed my mind, "'cause she's honestly just a saint, and she doesn't hate anyone.." I decided to play the pity card, since he still wasn't saying anything.

"She honestly thinks that you might completely hate her, or think that she dislikes you, but she isn't like that—she would never," I was just about ready to continue, and go on a full on rant, but he finally cut me off.

"I know."

Two simple words. I wondered how elaborate he could get.. Someone win a prize for eloquency.. or lack thereof.

"And honestly, Jeb doesn't deserve her," I said. Measuring out my words carefully, my eyes still zoned in on the side of Fang's head that was in my line of vision, I spoke.

"I.. I don't hate you for coming here to live with us.. but the fact is that you're just one of the many reasons I hate Jeb, and the reasons he doesn't deserve Mom," I ended quietly. Fang's neck tilted up at that and I could his tense shoulders convulse. I could see the bazillions of different ways that could be interpreted: that Fang is a nuisance, that it's Jeb's fault that he's a nuisance, that he doesn't deserve to be here--all negative interpretations, or at least, the obvious ones were.

Sometimes I didn't get why I said the things that I did. I had just said something that had potential to hurt him, very much, and I had just destroyed a nice, pacifistic, peaceful, albeit tense moment in saying it. I couldn't very well take it back.

It was quiet for a while. A long, long while, in which I just stared at him, and he just stared at the rain pouring down.

"I get it," he said simply, "I think you're certainly one to talk, but Jeb doesn't seem all bad.." he trailed off, as if taking back something he had meant to say. I was confused at the first part of his statement, but shrugged it off cause he was stupid anyway.

"Then?" I asked him, curious. I was probably humoring him.

"He wants me to change my name." I blinked a few times in surprise. That was certainly not the answer I was expecting. What? He turned his head to look over at me for the first time in a while.

"He wants it to be Ride," he explained quietly. That still didn't answer my question though.

"Then whats with.. Nick.. and _Fang_?" I asked incredulously. He smirked.

"Well.. I didn't want to do it," he slowly got out, "but he did it anyway, since he's got legal custody over me. But he changed my first name to a nickname that everyone at school called me, just so that I wasn't in relation to my mom's husband, whom I was named after. He changed it to Fang so that I wouldn't mind too much."

The onslaught of information startled me, and immediately I burned up.

"Everyone called me Fang back at my old school, but I actually earned it there. And the first two people I introduced myself to here," he shot me a pointed glare, "behaved.. rudely.. so I decided to tell Iggy my given name, despite that my new school records won't have that written down," he continued quietly.

I took a deep breath, soaking all the information in. That certainly explained alot. Jeb must've been really intent on changing Fang's last name to Ride, if he would cooperate with dealing with a son with such a ridiculous first name. And it was all for the sake of detaching Fang from his deceased parents? That was just _sick_. I felt like throwing up in hatred, just at the thought.

"That bastard," I expressed passionately. Who was Jeb to do that without even Fang's permission?

"No. I get it. He seems to be pretty top-notch, and you can't have an illegitimate child living in your house and staining your name, without even technically having it," he said with a hint of bitterness.

I stayed quiet. I know, big surprise. But what was I supposed to say to something like that?

"God, why am I telling you this?" he seemed to ask himself exasperatedly. I blinked a few times at the sudden burst of emotion.

"I know you think I'm a bitch.." I started carefully, "but I'm just really confused right now.. you know? With things," I looked away. Maybe I should just go all out and confess it.

"It just doesn't help that my best friend is hanging out with you more than he is with me.." I went on to explain. Surprisingly enough, I heard a chuckle at that, and I jerked my head up to see Fang.

"You're being like that to Iggy.. cause you think hes into you," he said serenely, his deep, dark, velvety voice trailing through the plastic walls of the cramped kiddie tunnel, "But he isn't."

"I hate you, you know," I graciously informed him.

"Oh, I'm quite aware," he replied jokingly, throwing me a heart-startling smirk. I stared at it for a while more, mesmerized with curiosity. He was so.. strange. The way he spoke, and the way he behaved, even the way he acted.. I didn't get any of it, and it was all foreign to me. Everything was unexpected, nonchalant, intense, a joke, but serious, and in the meanwhile.. it was so goddamn confusing.. He looked away again.

"You know.. you're pretty.. _different_.. for a girl," he commented lightly, offhandedly. Well, how ironic. Great minds think alike, although I wasn't sure if I wanted to be compared with.. ugh, him.

"How?" I practically screeched at him defensively.

"For one.. you played bitch-Barbie the first day I met you, but later on, I started to wonder if you were really a girl.." he said, his head still turned away.

"Though the bra.. was a nice giveaway, but the behavior and posture.." he said, a playful lilt circling around in his voice, "kept me confused."

"For a while, I just thought you were a monster in lingerie.." I glared daggers at his head, and he could no doubt feel it, but still continued, "..cause you know, those are the worst, and all."

I suddenly jumped at him, with every intention of tearing him to pieces. Unfortunately, I underestimated the space in the small tunnel that was primarily built for 4-year-olds.

In the end, I had gotten his head on the floor of the tunnel, his eyes wide open in surprise, as I was preparing on making him pay for what he'd just said. My forearms were metal on his collarbones, keeping his head down to the floor in a chokehold.

But he just suddenly jerked me up off of him. The back of my head and my shoulder blades collided with the side of the small tunnel, and I groaned at the rough, harsh impact. It would certainly bruise. I was amazed that he was so much stronger than I was.. he was no Iggy.

He leaned over, closer to me, his face looking murderous all over again. His hand found itself on the curve of my waist and he squeezed it sharply as my blurry eyes opened up and attempted to throw a weak glare at him.

He was crouching over me, his back hunched over. The small tunnel was not big enough for a direct confrontation, but thanks to me, thats what we were faced with, him bending over in the curvature. I felt his large hand gripping the side of my waist, fit against it like a socket, and his eyes looking deep into mine intensely.

Unfortunately, he held my other hand down by the wrist against the wall of the small kiddie tunnel. I couldn't move at all, and I felt like a total idiot for underestimating him. Oh, great, what had I gotten myself into? I realized that I was too used to Iggy... and this stuff would and could _only _work on Iggy..

Fang leaned closer to me, his features flaming, his intense eyes staring deep into my own, but his head dropped further down as he got closer. I suddenly felt his cold nose and mouth against the side of my neck, his form still hunching over me uncomfortably in the small space.

"You're also.. _daring_.." he said.

His tight hands let go of my waist and slowly slid up the side of my form and the side of my dress, before he let go, removing himself from me and sitting back down opposite me, and looking away.

* * *

A/N:

D: That was a hard chapter to write. I'm exhausted. D:

It was just so hard for me to get out of the circle I wrote myself into that I forced myself to introduce Fax, except now i'm just SEVERELY afraid I made Fang really OOC.

Sigh. The perils, the perils. T^T

What do you think? How did I do? Help me out here!! I'll fix it if I messed up.. T^T


	7. I Wanted More

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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**  
Chapter Seven: I Wanted More**

My breathing was deep and heavy, and in the crevices of the quiet, small tunnel, it seemed to be loud, smashing into all of our eardrums in waves.

My breathing was deep, and heavy, and Fang was sitting there, on the side, away from me, and I could tell he was hating it. I could tell that he wanted to ask me to stop breathing. But he wouldn't have the nerve to.. cause he was the one who had made it that way.

He wanted to ask me to stop breathing, because he was the one who had caused it, and he knew it. He had done it willingly. He was the who had pumped my heart up to accelerate a few beats.

He hated hearing it, because he knew he was the who did it to me.

He was nothing to me. He was a sibling in name, but I'd never grown up with him. He was evidence of just another one of Jeb's mess-ups from 17 years ago. He wasn't a family member, and he wasn't a friend, or a classmate, or anything to me. He was just some guy who had come to live in my house because his parents had died. I knew nothing about him, but he was my brother.

Yet, there'd been such a rush when he had gotten so close to me. Some unexplainable feeling in the pit of my gut that had risen up to the lazy, clouded crevices of my brain, and floated out inexplicably from my mouth. I was breathing deeply, surprised at what had just happened, as he was, and yet I didn't know why. He was nothing to me, but it felt like _so _much.

"Fang—" I started, but immediately got cut off.

"Its late, Max," he said in monotone, all over again. I frowned.

I stared at him looking away from me. He had been just as surprised as I was.

"Well its still raining out," I pointed out. It was drizzling now actually, to be honest, but it was still at a horrible rate and pace. Fang's head was still turned away from me, and I knew he could tell the state of the weather from the intensity at which he was staring at it.

"I know," he said. I frowned again.

And then what? I certainly didn't want to get sick in the middle of the summer—that'd ruin the whole entire concept of a school holiday, despite the fact that I'm working this summer anyway.

Suddenly there was a dark piece of warm cloth sitting on top of my head. I took it off and looked at it curiously, looking back at Fang to see him topless. I blinked a few times, connecting the shirt in my hands to his bare chest. He turned his head to look at me murderously once more, like I was the dumbest kid on the planet. Finally, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, his finger pointed clearly at his shirt in my hands.

"Put that over your head, and _let's go_," he said in a flat tone, although there was impatience laced within it. Startled, I nodded at his sudden voice and quickly and obediently, crawling out of the tunnel into the drizzle.

We stood outside of the playground for a second and then he turned on me.

"_Well_? Which way, genius?" he snapped. Why was he acting this way? Quietly, I pointed down the street, and he started walking down. I absentmindedly noticed how cold he looked, topless in the rain.

"I don't need this," I ran up to him, thrusting it back against his pale chest.

"Shut up," he barked, "I don't need to get on Jeb's bad side," he grumbled out, still walking at a fast pace back towards our house.

I rolled my eyes. So, I guess this certainly wasn't chivalry.. Then again, we'd exchanged insults and offhanded snide comments before.. but he seemed to particularly _hateful_ right now. Seriously, _shut up_? If I weren't freaking soaking wet, I'd have half a mind to kick his ass. He wasn't allowed to order me around.

Oh. No, I wouldn't. The last time I'd tried to.. kick his ass.. was.. approximately five minutes ago.. I shuddered at the memory.. What _was_ that? He had run his hand up my side, and squeezed my waist, and his nose.. it was right against my neck.. I could feel his breath on me, and he'd been leaning close.. what _was_ that?

Before I knew it, we had reached the house and Fang was just about to ring the doorbell when I snapped back to my senses and smacked his hand away from the door.

"What're you doing, you freaking genius?! They'll know we ditched the party," I explained exasperatedly.

I beckoned him to follow me, walking around the house. The rain had let up, and sky was just now dark, everything around us wet and saturated, and I casually threw him back his dumb shirt. He caught it and held on to the wet thing as we walked around.

"We climb up, theres a thick branch that leads to my window," I said, pointing to a tree on the side of the house. He nodded in understanding.

"I see.. you have experience in this department.." he commented, a small smirk on his face. I threw him a glare.

"No, its called losing-your-keys-and-having-no-one-at-home-to-open-the-door-for-you, oh wise one," I retorted.

I was about two feet up when Fang started climbing up below me, following me.

"This house is pretty empty like that, huh," he commented idly, as he grabbed another branch to propel himself up and forward. I grunted in effort as I answered him.

"Yeah, I guess," I responded distractedly.

It was true. Jeb was consumed in his work, and ever since Mom had opened up her own clinic, she'd needed to devote a lot of time and energy into keeping it running and taking care of her patients. Mom only just recently decided to open it up—she'd always wanted to, but had been worried she wouldn't be able to give Ella and me the time that we needed.

Like I said, she was just awesome like that. I suppose that now we're older and are generally capable of taking care of ourselves, she took the risk. But I was happy for her—she was finally doing something she's wanted to do for ages, and only we've kept her from fulfilling her dreams.

"Ella said she's leaving for camp this Thursday," he said, still quietly working on getting up the tall tree. I wasn't nearly as suave and quiet as he was on this, which did nothing but irritate and hinder me even further on the branch above him.

"Yeah, I think," I agreed, wondering what point he was trying to make. With a loud grunt I finally reached the ledge of my window. With all my energy, I pulled it up from the outside, bringing my knee over to climb into it. Fang followed.

"I heard that means that I'll be cooking," he sat on my ledge before jumping into my room. I frowned.. what has Iggy been telling that kid? Probably not lies, but still..

And then I realized what he was _actually _saying: It'd just be the two of us. I would've normally been worried, but the talk we had today proved that I didn't really have to hate him.

Heck, I'd say we were on terms now that I didn't even have to ignore him. Either way, whether today had happened or not, I wouldn't have been able to keep that up much longer.. I didn't know how to cook. In that sense, I supposed I was slightly appreciative of the ice-breaking today.. cause I sure as hell didn't want to ask Iggy to come over.. the terms Iggy and I were on right now.. were definitely less than perfect.

And then for a second it came to me that all of that was _my_ fault. Completely ignoring Fang, refusing to talk to Iggy. All, my, fault. _God_, I sucked.

Fang was looking around my room for a moment, before turning around and facing my door. He twisted his neck to look back at me before turning the doorknob and we shared a glance that spanned more than a long, incredible moment.

It was amazing how many things were being said just a moment in between the two of us.. it was truly incredible. I'd never felt this way with anyone else before—it was startling how much I could understand about what was written in his eyes just by the way he was looking at me.

He was speaking a thousand words in a single glance to me, yet not a word was uttered out from his mouth. It was amazing how much pain, pleasure, passion, _feeling_ I was seeing in his eyes. To think that I'd thought he was some naive, unfeeling, conforming, jerkass. (Well, I wasn't all to keen on taking away that jerkass comment just yet.. but still).

I saw wonder sitting there on his face, wonder that if we didn't have to hate each other just because our unique father-figure sucked.

I'd been being a bitch to someone who knew absolutely no one here. Great. Aren't I just a saint? Ugh.

There was pain sewn onto every crevice of his face, but I couldn't yet tell exactly what it was for.. though, I was guessing it was loss. There was hope, sorrow, regret.. and then.. an apology. And then he blinked, and it'd all gone away as soon as he turned around. It was gone just as quickly as the fleeting glance had come. He turned the doorknob, and left, his dripping wet hair and chest disappearing behind the door quicker than day.

I stared at the door that he'd shut behind him. There were so many strange, unknown things lying behind it. There was so much about Fang I didn't know.

I wanted more.

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This was not funny.

It was 7 AM.

I repeat. It was _seven_, _AM_.

This needed to be like, illegal or something. Summer vacation criteria explicitly states no getting up before noon, unless you've prior arrangements (such as work)—in which case the ultimatum is lowered to 10.

This was _so_ not allowed.

My head nodding up and down slowly, I stood by the doorway, trying to groggily figure out what was going on.

Oh yes. Ella. She was leaving.

So.. why was I here again? I wracked my brain to remember.

Oh yes. Because I am a good big sister, and am here to bid her farewell.

Ugh.. I so wanted to go back to bed right now..

I jumped as I suddenly felt a half-assed prickling sensation on the back of my head. I lazily tilted my head an inch to the right to see Fang standing there, looking just as pissy and disoriented as I was at the moment.. which definitely explained the half-assed note my freak-meter alerted me about.

I took it back. He wasn't really that much of a freak. He was just some kid. A strange one.

And I still didn't know if he thought I was still a conceited bitch. But meh, whatever. Who cares.

I swore colorfully in my head as I gave Ella one of those customary sister heartfelt pep talks. I seriously wanted to be in bed right now.

Fang just quietly told her to have fun.. I no kid you, just those two words. Nevertheless, she jumped on him with a big hug as well. And sure, Ella was an affectionate, sweet, girl, but she knew her boundaries and was very honest to herself. The hug was heartfelt.

I stared on in ridicule. (Or at least, the best I could do, while half asleep).

That irritating kid being the ideal big brother? I wonder how _that_ worked. There must be something about him that I'm missing, cause I can't, for the life of me, imagine that soundless pit of a scarecrow getting all.. uh.. Big-brother-y? Note to self: ask Ella when she gets back, how to speak to a non-sociable penguin.

"Now, kids, be good, and Ella, have fun at camp—I'm picking you up in three weeks," Mom said to us in a rush. She seemed to be pretty distracted, and well-dressed, I noted.

Oh yeah. She was going upstate for some training enrichment course. I nodded at whatever she was saying.

"Jeb will be back around 9 tonight, so he'll be making you dinner, and you know if you need anything my number,"

"On the fridge, yes, we know," I replied, "Just have fun yourself," I reminded her.

Half of me was just wishing she'd hurry up and leave already, although isn't that a dreadful thought to come face to face with? You couldn't blame me though. It was _seven_. In the _morning_.

You did not _know_ how much trouble I was having putting enthusiasm into my voice right now. But I could do it, for Mom. She gave me a warm, loving, albeit frustrated smile, looking at all of us, lined up a row, one by one.

Well, actually, Fang and I were looking half-dead and asleep standing up, but Ella was all decked out in her camping gear and three backpacks. With one last smile, she turned and dropped a kiss onto Ella's hair, turning to me to do the same.. and then, without any hesitation at all, she leaned up to reach Fang's tall height and dropped a kiss onto his head as well.

Well, that certainly got him awake. Or, at least, thats what I presumed, considering his eyes had widened a fraction of an inch (and dude, an inch is a lot, mind you), by the time she had pulled away. Mom looked just about ready to cry, looking at all of us.

Man was she going through menopause now?

Ugh, getting woken up at the frickin break of dawn certainly put _me_ into a grumpy mood..

I wasn't even sure when it happened, but finally, _finally_, I heard the telltale sound of the front door closing and the car driving away.

_Finally_.

I closed my eyes and groaned—loudly. With my eyes still closed and my shoulders superlatively slumped I irritably stepped back into our small family room, groaning the entire way, eyes closed, and tripped myself to fall over the arms of a long sofa and fall onto it.

Too.. lazy.. to go up the stairs... Couch would do.

I heard Fang exhale loudly through his nose as he walked back in too, probably just as frustrated at having gotten up so early.

I heard a creak as he presumably fell in quite a similar fashion onto the other remaining long sofa.

Sooner or later I had drifted off, off, off to dreamland.

It was nice.

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I took a deep breath. The summer sun from the living room windows fell down to my face, shining harshly. Getting waken up via sunshine is never a fun thing, despite what anyone says. I took another deep breath.

Man, I'd miss days like these.. lounging around and sleeping until noon. Ugh, but my neck ached. I wondered why. Lifting my neck up to rub it around a little bit, I looked around a bit.

Oh yeah.. I'd fallen asleep in the living room, at around 7 in the morning..

I heard light, silent, barely audible breathing from behind me. Surprised, I twisted my neck to look behind me. Apparently Fang had had the same idea, and had collapsed on a couch near the front door as well.

He was awake now and just staring up at the ceiling, his head rested on an arm that he had bent up behind his head. He looked.. thoughtful.. pensive.

I stared at him in wonder.. remembering last Friday, when we had exchanged that glance. There were so many things in him, that it was pretty goddamned startling.

I called him a freak.. but he was just.. different.

Thats what he'd called me too—different.

He calmly brought his head down to meet my gaze, and we stared at each other like that for a while. Neither of us had enough energy to say a word, but I wasn't quite sure if he just simply didn't want to.

We were basking in the glory of late noon mornings of summer prime, and let me tell you—was it divine. Not even a jerk could ruin the feeling, even if he was sharing it with.

He suddenly blinked quickly before he shifted around, reaching down to his pajama pants to take something out of a pocket. He flipped open his sleek black cellphone and looked back up the ceiling, regarding it just as calmly as he had done me. It seemed typical of Fang to not have a ringtone at all, but I was amazed he even had a phone considering the obvious lack of societal social skills he seemed to have in him.

Huh. I guess blond bimbos, who seem to conveniently be conceited bi-atches, weren't given the privileges of the great Fangdom's niceties.

I watched him for a second longer, getting increasingly agitated by each second and not even knowing why.

"I derno," he mumbled out groggily after a long while. Fleetingly, he eyes flew back down to glance at me, "Yeah, I'm just lying here with Max," he responded.

I rolled my eyes at the phrasing of that statement and wondered who he was talking to. I was pretty darn sure Mom had no idea Fang even owned a cellphone, much less had the number to it. Absentmindedly, I wondered why Fang hadn't told her something like that.. I mean, afterall, _she was_ technically his Mom now. She actually did treat him like her own son.. he might just have the decency to do something like give her his cell phone number.

It angered me to think that he wasn't appreciating her.

"Well, fine, I think the front doors open," he replied caringlessly. Holy flying heck, that got me mad.

I sat up straight, energy somehow seeming to be just flowing through me at tremendous rates as I prepared myself for a large bellow, aimed primarily at _his_ direction.

"Who do you freaking think you are, inviting just anyone into our house like that?" I started asking hysterically. My head was pounding.

Fang stared at me blankly, blinking a few odd times casually. He continued to regard me in the irritating, undisturbed demeanor that he did, but just for a second, his eyes flickered up to something above my head before they met mine again. After I was done and I'd paused to cross my arms and lean back against the couch, still glaring at his apathetic face, I heard a voice sound from behind me.

"Geez, Max, didn't know you hated me that much," I heard an eerily distant voice say to me. I twisted my head back to see Iggy, standing there near the armrest of the sofa I had been dozing off on. I couldn't even recognize his voice cause it'd been so eerily unfeeling—something I don't think I'd ever heard from the depths of his throat.

My eyes widened in surprise, so it was Iggy he'd been talking to. I gulped hard, and felt like a fish swallowing for air underwater. I didn't know what to say to him. We hadn't spoken in two weeks, since I'd shut my window on his face.. I'd never ever done anything like that before.

The moment was still, it was awkward, and it was quiet. I wanted to say something.. but I didn't know what.

I was Maximum Ride. Why the heck would I say 'sorry' for something I wasn't exactly sorry for? That I didn't even know what the problem was over?

All I knew was that there was tension.. a lot of it. My mouth still felt like a gaping fish underwater. I was never really good at this stuff.

"I need some food," Fang broke the silence with the type of voice that clearly told both of us that he couldn't really care less about us.

He got up tiredly from the couch he'd been sleeping on and walked through the dining area, clad in a black t-shirt and striped pajamas, into the kitchen.

We watched him go. With a sigh, Iggy plopped down onto the couch next to me. Close to me. I tensed up, and I knew he noticed. He took another deep sigh, as if putting it all aside and accepting the inevitable, before he spoke.

"C'mon, I'll make you some breakfast.." He said, sounding like the atmosphere had completely drained him.

He sounded willing, tired, weary.. and compliant.

And it was like that. It was just like that, and we were fine. I think. He got up and walked back into the kitchen and I followed.

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"Max?" I looked up at Fang, my head lifting a bit from where it was resting, sitting upon my palms. We were waiting for Iggy to get some ingredients from the pantry downstairs; Fang had ditched his bowl of cold cereal to wait for an Iggy-made breakfast (lunch?).

It was the first time he'd said a word since that night we'd ditched Jeb's party. Begrudgingly though, I had to say, that I was elated. Maybe that was a tactic or something.. keep people guessing, or deprived.. either one. Either way, I couldn't help but feel starved of words. My feet were jumping in anticipation of what he wanted to say.

"If you want to fix things with Ig..."

"-We're fine," I cut him off.

"You could just give him a pair of those red laced panties."

It took me a second to register that.

"WHAT?!"

He blinked.

"Next time you decide to climb a tree in a dress.. doublethink the whole leading thing."

_Ugh_. ..Hated him so much, yet felt so compelled by every single word rare word ready to pour out of his mouth. _Asshole_.

* * *

A/N:

Lol. So I wonder if anonymous reviewers feel more.. free.. liberated..?

I mean like, man, its true though. I don't think someone logged into their account would say something like "omg reedng dat mayd me wett"

right? O.O

Fanfiction reviews are the joys of my life these days. Fanfiction reviews are like.. _so_ freaking **_amusing_**. Mwahahahahaha.. and yeah.. I can't wait for vacation.. I'm leaving next week, so I dunno. I'm still debating on how long/short I want to make this story. Its a debate between a) quick, short, choppy, straight to the point or b) long, emotional, intense, angsty. This isn't really a question for you guys though, cause I can't force myself to write one way or the other if I'm just not willing to do it. I'm just warning you that at this point, it can DEFINATELY go one way or the other, in case you were actively expecting a long, epic piece (like Let Me Help You is). I was planning on making this a long epic piece actually, but I find myself getting impatient and irritated at the little corners I write myself into. Cause then, in longing to keep things realistic and IC, it takes just as long to back out of the corners. All in all, just alot of build-up and tension. One can get severely sick of things like that. tsk tsk. Like Paddington the Bear and you know, his marmalade? Poo.

**  
Comment of the day !**

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_forever2yours, A new review/comment has been submitted to your story._

_Story: Something Gone Wrong  
Chapter: 6. You're Daring_

_From: anonymous ()_

_Will you marry me?_

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**  
Reviewer of the day!**

**[**_ Check out the story Max, Meet Your Sexist Self_ by Shatchi**  
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**  
Random ME fact of the day!**

I dunno if you guys notice it or not, but I make up words. All the time.

I have over 100 fake words I _regularly_ use in all my stories..

Liiiiiiiike duuuudes, lyke srsly ders no such werrd as 'eloquency', trussst me.


	8. Love, Hate

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

_

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_**  
Chapter Eight: Love, Hate.**

"UGH! COME ON," I screamed, "You're kidding me.."

I shoved Iggy's shoulder, as he was sitting next to me, crossed legged on the floor, hard.

"Ouch! Man, Max, we're not all as manly as you are!"

I rolled my eyes and rapidly shoved him again, my eyes still entranced on the tv screen, and my fingers jumping up and down rapidly.

"Fang, you suck," I proclaimed loudly as his guy downed one of mine.

He smirked, his eyes still on the screen. He was sitting cross-legged, perched on the edge of the couch he had slept on in the early morning, right behind Iggy and I.

"Max, thats cheap, don't hate cause he's better," Iggy chastised, a big grin on his face. I stuck my tongue out at him distractedly, still trying to shoot Iggy's dude in the chest.

"Remind me again why you're so good at this," Fang muttered quietly, his face looking quite agitated as he went one on one with Iggy's guy. I smirked.. this was my chance.. I jumped the wall behind them, giving up on trying to shoot down Iggy.

"Whoo-hoo!" I echoed loudly, throwing my arms up into the air in victory. I turned around and graced Fang with the face of my immature, albeit snide tongue. He stared at it disinterestedly, promptly making me feel really, _really_, dumb. I turned around, my face turning red.

Iggy threw the handheld game controller down.

"Man, this isn't fair, I would've won if I wasn't playing against two people at the same time," he yawned. I scoffed. What was this, his _first_ loss, ever?

Don't ask how a nearly-blind guy manages to win close to all video games ever.

I wanted to throw a witty remark at him, reminding him about that, but then I bit my tongue. I didn't want Fang to know that _that_ was my actual first win at a video game.. I'd look dumb for rubbing in inherent superiority..

You couldn't really blame me though.. I've always just played against Iggy since Ella isn't really into that sort of stuff. Obviously, thus, I've always lost. Ahh.. story of my life..

Nevertheless, there was a great feeling of elation now that Iggy was talking to me again, and vice versa.

I was waiting for Fang and Iggy to finish up their fight and leaned back onto the cushiony bottom of the sofa to see who would get over the wall first, but was instead hit with two bony columns structures behind me.

I twisted my neck, turning around me to see that Fang had uncrossed his legs, now leaning forward on the edge of the sofa as he watched the screen.

His fingers still moving rapidly, his pupils moved down for a second to throw me a condescending, slightly revolted look, before going back up to watch the screen, Iggy still groaning like heck in the background. I quickly straightened up, moving a few feet away from the front of the sofa.

I rolled my eyes, scoffing. So my back hit his knees for an accidental second. Goth-boy was touchy, wasn't he? How expected for little goth-boys to like their own personal space.

Well.. it certainly didn't seem that way in the kiddie tunnel last Friday..

I leaned forward, only to feel an irritated, begrudged nudging on my shoulder blades. Irritated and, I twisted my neck to look back at him again, but his face was no longer pissed-off looking. I stared at him with a look that clear asked, "what do you want?"

His eyes left the screen for a moment to slowly move down and glance pointedly at his knees before moving back up, his face looking disinterested again. There was nothing on it.. no smirk, no shrug, no revulsion, no intense concentration, anymore. He was so.. strange..

So, I leaned back against his knee again.. and this time, I stayed there. I rolled my eyes, but the feeling was weird this time.. like I didn't really know what I was exasperated at, coupled with the uncomfortable feeling that was the implications of feeling him behind me.

With a large w00t, Iggy threw his hands up in the air.

"Oh! I still gots it!" he promptly stood up and started doing a victory dance on the carpet. He was remarkably good for a blind guy, I noticed amusedly.

Fang leaned back into the sofa cushions, crossing his arms stubbornly, my back still resting against his legs. He rolled his eyes at Iggy rubbing it in, and I stifled a laugh at that.. man, the great silent Fangalator was getting pissed off at getting beat at a video game by a blind guy. Laugh-able.

Suddenly Jeb walked in, his eyebrows slightly raised as he watched Iggy shake his hips at Fang obnoxiously and rather.. metrosexually... Fang stared at his undulating behind in front of him, his face contorted into revulsion.

It was affectionate revulsion, I noted curiously. I was starting to see through Fang, mostly due to Iggy.

I had thought Iggy's easy-going, carefree attitude wouldn't be a great match for Fang's introverted one, but here he was, ditching his usual gang of troublemakers and buddies to hang out with here with him. Heck, he had even personally called up Fang to hang out, so it seemed like Iggy really liked him.. Like Fang was his new freaking best friend now. Unlike me.

I took a deep breath to calm myself as I watched the interaction. This is what one calls '_bro-mance'_, I noted wryly, as I watched Fang's face blanch. I couldn't compete.

Like I said, I couldn't blame him. They were, well, guys. If Iggy shook his behind like that to me, I'd probly just kick his stupid arse into next week. So, big whoop.

At hearing Jeb clear his throat, I instinctively jerked off of Fang's legs. He finally walked into the living room from the doorway, getting our attention.

"Hi dad," I greeted him nervously, still standing by the doorway. I wasn't sure why I felt so.. wierdly guilty.

He continued to stare at the three of us, something I couldn't quite place, sitting on his face, his eyes suspiciously speculating each of us one by one, by turn. I looked up at the clock behind him. Woah, it was already 9? Well, thats what you get from waking up at 2 in the afternoon, I suppose.

Iggy continued to shake his butt for a moment longer, before finally looking up and stopping. He sat down on the carpet again, a large smile plastered on his face as he looked up at Jeb.

"Good evening, Sir," I heard a deep, strict, no-joking voice sound behind me. It sounded.. overtly polite.. like he was greeting some guy from the military or something.

It was contrastingly different from the dark, seductive, teasing lilt that rolls off of his tongue when he made fun of me. It wasn't the bitter, snide tone I hear elicit from his mouth when he was particularly antagonistic. It wasn't the exasperated, yet affectionate tone escaping his lips, coupled with a smirk usually, whenever he spoke to Iggy.

It was weird.

I heard Fang's heels shuffle weirdly and his calves seemed to visibly flex, even through his smoothly-ironed black jeans.

There was something.. _off_, about them. My eyes narrowed sardonically at Jeb for a reason I couldn't quite explain, even to myself.

Jeb's face let go of its previously suspicious demeanor, and he loosened up, turning calm.

"Call me Dad," he said to Fang with a slight laugh, as if he had said it a couple of times. I watched Fang nod stiffly and slowly, his neck moving away to the side to look away.

"Hey Dad!" Iggy greeted cheerfully, his eyes nearly closed with the impact of his large, wide smile. I had the insane urge to shove those sunglasses back onto his face, but Jeb was still standing there, making us all still and awkward for a moment.

He looked down to Iggy dissaprovingly, nodding disgustingly with a slight grimace on his face.

"Dinner at 9," he called out as he looked away from him disgustedly, Iggy snickering quietly with his leave.

Jeb had seen Iggy a lot.. all the time in fact, since we were tiny kids and we'd just moved here. Needless to say, he didn't like him. Neither did he. Life was good that way.

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"So, Dad," I started.

We were sitting at the dinner table again. Second time in my entire life, and all in one month, wowzers.

He looked up at me and smiled pleasantly. He had good right to do so, too. I hadn't exploded on him yet so far, this entire day. Woah. Major feat to accomplish, if I do say so myself. I mentally patted myself on the back. It'll only be that much more devastating when I go bitch-cold on him.

What can I say? I make life fun.

"So, you're home early today," I commented, scooping up a bit of meat on my second helping. Fang looked up at me through his lashes, curious. I threw him a smirk on the side of my face and I swore I saw something funny flash on his face as well. He was waiting for another show.

Oh, I'd give him one.

Jeb smiled tightly, yet politely once again, throwing another worried glance at Fang, whom he was sitting beside, before looking back up at me angelically. Uh, ew? Anyway..

"Valencia told me that Ella just left for camp, and she sounded pretty worried about you guys. I know how you are in the kitchen Max, so I told Valencia she didn't have to worry and that I'd be making you guys dinner," he explained cheerily.

"Well, you're a great husband," I said to him, equally as cheerily as he had, with absolutely no hint of sardonicism in my voice.

(No, seriously. I know my thoughts are sarcastic a lot, but I seriously did. I definitely said it like I meant it, regardless of if I did or not).

Jeb looked up at me with a strange grimace/smile. It was tight, and threatening.

Jeez, I thought, what was the point of showing Fang up? Since when did we use these dumb dinner table seats?!

And _most_ of all, how far did Jeb think he'd get with me in the same room? Now _that, _was certainly laughable.

I returned his strange little grimace/smile with an absolutely overtly angelic one of my one. I saw Fang quietly smirk into his spoon as he watched me, subtly taking a sip of soup. At least he was eating of his own free will today, I noted interestedly. He certainly wasn't tense anymore, and he _obviously_, certainly didn't _care_ anymore. Jeb seemed to think otherwise, placing us in these dumb dinner seats all over again. Fang's first impressions are already down the drain, and he'd been living here for nearly a month now, and it was already close to August. Jeb cleared his throat.

"So, Fang, how're you liking the neighborhood so far," he asked him graciously, turning away from me suavely. Fang's deep set eyes swiveled around to look up at him. He seemed startled at the question, but didn't betray any emotion to show it perfectly. I didn't know quite how just yet, but I could tell. I stared him curiously.

He glanced at me disinterestedly for a second before replying.

"It's nice," he said, going back to his soup. I saw the look on Jeb's face and kept myself from bursting out in laughter. His face was absolutely astonished. _Does this kid speak?_

When he wants to take note of your underwear, he sure does, I thought wryly.

Awkwarrd. Jeb cleared his throat slightly afterwards.

"Well, then, I've got a lot of work to do tonight," he said, placing his napkin on the table, "Don't go to bed too late kids. You can watch a movie if you want though," he suggested before clearing his plate.

I rolled my eyes.

"Since when do we need your permission?" casually rolled off of my tongue as he took his leave. I saw his back tense.

I watched him go, _oh_ so wistfully, and then turned back to Fang with a smile on my face.

He cocked an eyebrow the minisculest bit up.

"You're such a bitch," he commented softly before grabbing the big pot of soup and sitting it down in front of him. He swiftly brought it up to his lips, removing the ladle, and started pouring it down his throat. I stared at him in amusement.

"You're jealous," I retorted in retaliation. He put the large pot down, emptied in forty seconds flat. He wiped his mouth, then looked at me.

"That, I am," he replied sardonically, slowly rolling his eyes.

I felt my face turn red. Why did he make me feel so goddamned _stupid_ so often?

I heard steps from the stairs as Jeb suddenly entered the room again. I twisted my neck behind me to face him.

"Oh, I just forgot something, and don't forget to clean up after you're done, kids," he said absentmindedly, going back to look around for something somewhere.

Unexpectedly, Fang cleared his throat loudly, a deep sound undulating around in the air as he carefully placed the ladle back in the now empty pot. Jeb looked up to him in surprise, wondering whether or not he was planning to take.

"Thanks for the dinner.. .. It was good," he started in the same exact clean, aristocratic, stiff and strict voice he had used before, "Seeing as you've got work," he continued pointedly,

"and I know Max can't cook, it should be too much trouble for you now that Dr. Martinez and Ella aren't here. You don't need to fall too far behind in your work because of us, and I don't mind making dinner," he offered politely, yet his voice still completely void of all and any emotion.

What was this? Trying to play the perfect son? (How about daughter?) Either way, how _revolting_..

Much to my surprise though, I watched Jeb's ugly face break out in a large grin. He walked over strongly, his paper files in one hand, as he clapped Fang on the back. With a large, delighted smile on his face, he rubbed his hand around on his shoulder blades affectionately as he stared down at him.

"That would be great Fang, just great, and it was no trouble at all," Jeb said warmly. He looked up to give me a pointed stare, to which I just rolled my eyes.

Great. Now I had to hate Fang all over again? Here Jeb was hoping Fang would rub off of me.

Gr-eat. Who needs perverted little goth-jerk as an influence?

"Max, maybe you can learn a thing or two from your brother," Jeb admonished pointedly, his hand still on Fang's back. I couldn't read what was on Fang's face though—it was completely wiped of nearly everything, leaving nothing.

"_Brother_?" I would've asked him incredulously, "You _must_ be kidding me," I'd reply exasperatedly. I would've thrown my napkin down dramatically, glared at Fang, danced up to stare at Jeb's subsequently seething face, before finally walking away.

Too bad I just sat there and stared at them. Aww, how touching. Father and son.

Ugh, _gross_.

For a second there, Fang shot me another look.

One of those incredible ones, like the one we had shared for a fleeting moment in my room that night last week. Disgust linger in his pupils, impatience drawn onto every crevice of his face and jawline, revulsion whisper his nose, hate turning his ears red, and then a silent_ something_ dance across his browbone.

And then it was gone, as quick as it came. I blinked in surprise as I realized Jeb wasn't there anymore.

"What're you looking at, Max?" Fang asked me with a smirk on his face, getting up, "I know I'm devastatingly good-looking and all, but restrain yourself, woman," he whispered into my ear as he passed by me on his way to the kitchen, plate in his hands.

_God_, he sucks.

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A/N:

To some of my reviewers: (From first to last, Chapter 7)

er letsee..

have fun debating

i dunno cause it depends on if you can handle my awesomely large penis

mission accomplished.

(_!_) my butt is sexier than yours and too sexy for its shirt too

you're pretty awesome too jk not jk again?

i love your mom too she inspires all my stories, yes, even the M one

yup there will definately be Fang POV now that twenty people have asked me for it but youll have to wait a bit longer cause i think the beginning is crucial to be seen in Max's opinion so keep reading

you have just singlehandedly reassured my writing of this story cause i was worrying about the pace not keeping the attention of my readers

i laughed cause it was amusing haha

underwear encounters lol might become obsolete if they get comfortable around eachothers underwears lol jk this story will probably stay a T cause we dont want deformed babies running around

i only write so much because i generally just literally brain dump onto paper no lie

yes, max is a voyeaur.. what can i say?

everyone is pretty pervert on the inside so its okay

your mom was great too in bed last night

accepted and replied and thanks and adonkable? lol

i dont _have _a pet llama but that may or may not have something to do with you.......

i have precisely 8 made up words in this chapter 8 yupp

i do the same thing as well and happy early birthday

naw, unlike for my other one, i've never written a single chapter ahead for this story. i post as i type.

iggy's blindness(?) will be answered below the break.

the things that my readers seem to love the most are all the things ive severely considered completely cutting out..

hee went up ur arse and around the corner.. ahah naw, you wish. ;]

im not going to tell you my age cause i didnt like the reaction last time. but thanks. and. uh. hm. letsee. im not hispanic, and i butcher the spanish language. i honestly have no clue why i have to take the SAT IIs for it cause im going to bomb it. what else? oh yeah. my passport hasn't come in the mail yet, so my mom has to change my ticket flight date, so basically everyone is leaving WITHOUT me which sucks because i hate airplanes and now i have to go on the plane by myself when my passport comes. you know the oxygen masks on airplaces? i dont think they actually have any oxygen on them. i think theyre just to muffle the screams. sigh.

a hobo with a hat on top. duh.

well, you might as well know by now, since you're gonna find out eventually.. but the answer is yes.

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_fanfiction document editing just crashed on me, which sucks cause it took me forever to write reviewer comments and then it all dissapeared. so now i'm tired and pissed, so I typed them up half-assedly and without bothering to write your pretty little usernames down, so now you're left with a random jumble of words that don't really specify what i'm answering to, but like whatever, i hope its amusing to the eye._

here i'll make it up to by getting off my lazy butt and answering a question that i've been asked just about 20 or 30 bazillion times:

**Iggy is legally blind. What does this mean?**

[Anyone with vision worse than 20/200 that cannot be fixed with corrective lenses is considered legally blind.

A legally blind person has to be as close as 20 feet to identify objects that people with normal vision can spot from 200 feet. So a legally blind person needs a distance of two feet to spot the letters on a standard eye chart that is 20 feet away.

About 1.3 million Americans fall into this category. In the United States, the leading causes of blindness are accidents, diabetes, glaucoma, and macular degeneration.] -yahoo something or another.

So Iggy is legally blind. What does this mean? When he got so close to Max, it was probably the first time he'd literally seen her face in ages, and he was surprised because he didn't expect her to be.. yeah.

Ah well. There ya go.

I'm still sort pissed at angry right now.

Please keep reading though. Reviewing would make me happy.


	9. To Work Things Out

_Summary: Something.. something, something something.. forbidden romance.. something.. incest.. something..  
_

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_**  
Chapter Nine**?: I think..

"Look, I really want to work things out."

She suddenly looked up from putting toast into the toaster.

Max raised her eyebrow in shock. She then suddenly burst out laughing.

Her spit splattered all over onto his face, but she was delightfully oblivious, laughing away, clutching her stomach, nearly doubling over.

Looking slightly revolted, irritation written in his eyes, he wiped a few spots on his face, watching her with great agitation now.

She stopped laughing, her breaths lessening gradually to wheezes now, and then looked up to him again. She stared at him, a slight smile lingering on her beautiful face, her eyebrows twitching in incredulity, as she stared at him.

"What?" he snapped fiercely in adamance, his eyes flaming all over again. She loosened up a bit, leaning over the opposite end of the counter, across from which he was sitting on, on a stool. She placed her chin on her palms, propped up together in front of her. He noticed her breasts swelling, but looking past it, glared at her in the face.

Sister, or not, she was still a _girl_. It was just a shame how such _an ugly _one could have such a beautiful face. She was a bitch. Ah well. Some people got the worst luck in the world, he thought, cause somewhere out there, there was probably a beautiful _girl _with just an equally ugly face as of the personality the girl sitting in front of him did.

Max just got lucky, he thought. Beautiful girls deserve beautiful faces, but here he was, staring at an ugly girl with a beautiful face. Somewhere out there, there was an ugly face with a beautiful personality hidden underneath. Things just weren't supposed to work that way, he thought wryly, slightly shaking his head disappointedly at the thought.

"Why're you shaking your head at me?" He heard a voice ask from above him. God, she was rash, irritating, _spoiled, _and unpredictable. Did she have a life..?

Well, apparently she _did, _considering he apparently had stolen her best friend.. but oh well. He looked up at her bemusedly.

"Why do you care?" he countered, grimacing a bit in his head.

And here he was, just trying to get along with her—that stupid, goddamned excuse of a girl hidden in fabricated lingerie. She was impossible.. sort of like, like an ugly, ugly, beat-gorilla hybrid, or something. The thought amused him. Yup, that was exactly what she was. God, _Maximum_ _Ride, _what a stupid name.

He amusedly noticed her eyebrows twitch in great agitation at his response, although his face did not betray him, as he watched her silently, waiting to assess her reaction.

He liked to work her up. It was a nice change of pace in this dull, dull neighborhood.

Anyhow, she was _so _stupid, it was easy to do. Easy. He stared at her boredly, even though he was anticipating a loud show. He hid a smirk behind his face. She was _so_ easy to work up. Like a cow's hide..

She _needed _some cow's hide.. it'd suit her appearance.. personality.. She was such an irritable gorilla..

"I _thought_ you wanted to _get along,_" she gritted out through ugly, gritted teeth. Fang smirked in response. She was _so_ easy to work up.

"Considering you've just pointedly laughed at me when I proposed the effort, I guess I didn't want to anymore," Fang shrugged, turning around, swiveling around on his kitchen stool before getting up and walking away. A smirk was laid on his face, his hands casually slung into the pockets of his dress pants.

Why was he wearing dress pants? He didn't know. He'd hardly stuffed anything in his small suitcase before coming here. He had three pairs of jeans—two pairs, he amended, _one_ pair of dress pants—and three shirts. He wondered how long that'd last him for school. It was already August. The rest of his clothes were up at his mansion in Massachusetts.. all the way across the _fucking_ country, he reminded himself murderously. He certainly regretted his harsh, careless, angst-filled lack-thereof packing efforts, when he had found out he had to move all the way across the country. Now, he was stuck wearing some stupid, black, dress pants.

Even _he_ was getting tired of the black, even though it delightfully unnerved Max. She was _so_ stupid.

"Hey man, whatsup?" he heard. Iggy's bright red head of hair was looking up at him as he walked out of the front door. Evidently, he'd just been climbing up the front steps of their house to come in anyway.

"You've got a bad look on your face," Iggy commented. Fang's eyes twitched amusedly.

"You can tell? Haven't you got the eyesight.. of like, a hawk?" he commented, "I mean, like a _blind_ hawk?" he corrected, laughing at him slightly.

"Aw, cruel man, _cruel_," Iggy stated, clutching his chest dramatically over his heart, feigning fatality. Fang chuckled quietly in his head. Iggy was a pretty fun and funny guy to be around. Just too bad he had this awful crush on Max, his precious little half-sister, who was still grouching around in the house.

From what he'd deducted, they'd've been best friends for a while now, Iggy hated Jeb, and that things had just recently gotten weird between them. What he'd deducted was that Max liked Iggy now; Iggy liked her too, but just was completely adamant in not admitting it. Which was precisely why one of the first things he had said to Fang, was that he didn't like her. Fang had been taken aback, considering he barely _gave_ a shit, but as time went on, he realized how much of a lie what Iggy said was. All in all, it was just an awkward situation between the two of them now.

And thus, he, Fang, although he couldn't _give_ less of a _shit_, got slammed with the badge of stealing Max's best friend. Big, whoop.

Half the things Iggy asked him sometimes, had to do with Max: where was she now, what was she doing, what did she do yesterday? It got irritating sometimes, but he had to deal with it. Afterall, Iggy liked his sister.

Eh, weird to say that, he concluded. _My sister_. My sister, my ass, he concluded definitively. A monster.

He wondered what Iggy saw in her, as he took a decisive glance back at him from the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was just one of those childhood/grown-up-together type things, infatuation of sorts, he wondered. That was common, he'd agreed. Afterall, he'd had one of those himself.

Many, actually. He'd gone through a bunch of girlfriends back in his old hometown. He wondered what the girls were like around here.

If they were _anything_ like Max.. then he'd be sure to stay away. But he'd only met one more girl around here, someone named Nudge, that Iggy had brought him over to oneday. Her house was cool, and her adopted parentages were apparently an archaeologist and an architect. He was meeting all of Iggy's friends, and it was safe to say, that they were all pretty cool.

Nevertheless, he couldn't really say, just yet, at least. Afterall, there were still two long years to get to know and hate them. He'd only have to live here for _two long years_, and then he was _out_. The second he turned 18, he was completely outta here. God, he hated Jeb.

No. No, he didn't. That was just Max and Iggy's influence on him. There was just.. something _weird_ about Jeb, in turns. He hadn't even wondered who his real birth father was past the age of 12. The curiosity sort of died then, and then he asked himself why it'd matter. Now that he'd met him.. he'd wondered how he could be remotely like him. There was just something slightly _off_ about Jeb. He guessed that it just didn't help that Iggy and Max just both seemed to inexplicably hate him.

But, Ella didn't though. Ella was his other half-sister, and Max's younger sister. _She_ was fine though, he thought wryly. She was perfectly cool, and chill, and laid-back. Then again, she was only, like, 13. It was easy to get along with her. They'd usually just sit around and watch movies on tv allday, back before she went to camp. It was pretty fun too, considering how laid-back and interesting she was. She was completely pacifistic as well.

Max.. had like, this permanent PMS-cycle thing goin' on with her. He wondered how anyone, even Ella, was able to freaking _live_ with her. He sure as hell couldn't, for the meanwhile. Jeb obviously couldn't, but Max was so completely, angelically patient with her mother, that it was pretty astounding. Damn near revolting.

And now he had so cordially offered to make dinner for them until Dr. Martinez came back. Great job, Fang thought wryly. He was just trying to make a good, delayed, first impression, although he had slightly overlooked the fact that that meant dealing with Max _every _night.

She was simply devout at being a spoiled, irritating, b*tch.

"I've been getting lasik," he said to Fang casually. They were still walking along the neatly manicured, freshly trimmed sidewalk of the creepily, eerily, casually _perfect, _quiet neighborhood, placed cleanly on the outskirts of Los Angeles, California. He'd never been to California before.

"So does that mean you can see now?" he asked him casually back.

"Sort of.. it takes time, they're workin' on it," he explained subtly, "but its getting better and better as we go, except for all those pink-eye tear-dripping stinging days."

Ouch. You know, for a chronically blind guy, Iggy was intense joker. You almost nearly forgot he could barely see. But he was serious about somethings, sometimes though.

It was getting better now though. Fang was happy for his friend.

He had the slight, inkling of a feeling, that his lack of sight sight was one of the only reasons Iggy refused to like Max. He wanted his eyesight back, and then he'd allow himself to like Max.

It probably wasn't because he was a pig about looks and all—those he sort of seemed like he was, which was amusing, Fang noted, considering he was _blind_ and all—but because he probably didn't think Max deserved a blind guy as a boyfriend or something. Iggy was a completely _intense_ joker and all, but every once in a while, you'd hear slight, _bitter_ hints of irony in his voice, when he mentioned his sight. Usually it was funny.. but sometimes, he was serious underneath.

"Uh.. so where's Max?" Iggy asked him, failing dismally at subtlety. Fang threw him some bemused glance, as he answered.

"Eh, we had a fight, who cares?" he shrugged off thoughtfully, looking up at the green-blue sky of a perfect summer's day.

"You guys fight a lot," Iggy chuckled out, amused.

"Yeah, well, don't blame me she's a gorilla," he responded offhandedly, looking away. He supposed it was alright to diss the girl Iggy liked, especially since he had said that he didn't like her. Afterall, it was his sister—kids were allowed to do that, right? Diss their siblings?

"Let's go back," Iggy suggested smoothly. Oh, real smooth, Fang thought irritably. The guy couldn't take a hint, could he? He _didn't_ want to see _Max, _why else would he be out of the house now?! This was just one of the rare reasons that he found it irritating to hang out with Iggy—he was so, completely obsessed with Max. Fang hadn't quite truly seen it until the later days, once he had gotten to know Iggy better.

Fang groaned quietly, putting his head down, before following behind Iggy resignedly back to his house.

His stupid, dumb, house, on the outskirts of L.A., California. His stupid, dumb, house, that no one actually lived in, except for some dumb, eternally PMS-y bitch, and his own irritable self. He wished Ella were back.. at least _she_ was amusing.. His dumb, irritating house, where his dumb, irritating "parents" hardly were ever even there. He wished he were just back in his house in Massachusetts, it was bigger, it was quieter, it was more spacious, and he could do just as well living by himself. Its not like he was under some intense parenting routine _here_, was he? Stupid judge, stupid court. This sucked.

He walked back into his stupid house begrudgingly, right behind Iggy.

Max jumped. She had been laying across the arms of a big cushiony armchair on the side of the living room. Her feet dangling off the edge over one of the arms, her knees bent around the curve, and the other arm was cushioning her neck and holding her head. Her head was turned sideways to face the tv.

Some stupid, random daytime cartoon show was on. The Smurfs or something. Some blue midget hobbits or something—and she was laying across the single-seat armchair with a plain old bucket of chocolate and vanilla ice cream resting on her thin abdomen, as she licked a spoon on her tongue avidly. And stupidly, Fang mentally added to the description.

Her long, loose, baggy pajama pants were bunched up over her legs, to under her knees. Her shirt had ridden up on her stomach baggily.

God, and you called this a girl, Fang wondered incredulously.

Max caught the uninterested, bored look on his face, and glared at him, straightening up immediately.

"Why're you _back?" _she asked rudely. Fang threw her another bored glare. Iggy barely stifled an onslaught of intense laughter. Fang would've thrown him a glare, if it would've done him any use. He continued to address her boredly.

"I _live_ here," he drawled out slowly and unamusedly. He thought for a good long moment leisurely.

"—bitch," he added on after a moment, just for good measure.

Iggy finally gave up at hiding it and clutched his stomach, howling in laughter. Fang stared down at him bemusedly as well. He could practically _feel_ Max _seething_ in the background, her mouth utterly _gaping_ for words in response.

Instead he didn't hear anything in response. He looked up at her in curious surprise, only to see her sitting there, proper on the chair, the tub of ice cream sitting on her lap sadly now. She looked quiet, but her face was still red. She looked... Oh, he realized—guilty. She looked, guilty.

Oh yes, yes. His mum, and his father had died. Guilt card always did the trick, but it was funny, since he barely realized it at times. It was like people were just way hypersensitive of him and his barely nonexistant feelings. It was so much as irritating, as it was funny.

I guess this girl really isn't that much of a gorilla, he thought. She didn't seem to apparently have the _complete _sensitivity of a tablespoon, afterall.

"_Not_ funny," she suddenly apprehensively seethed out to Iggy.

Fang seemed to continue staring at her interestedly. As much of a PMS-y, scary, lingerie-wearing-clad gorilla she was, she was pretty _strange_, to say the least as well, he thought. He recalled telling her this a while before, on a playground park. She'd gotten angry though. She had many personality flaws, Fang observed quietly, still nodding knowledgeably in his head.

Iggy straightened up, his face still red, his teeth still wide and sparkling pearly white, in laughter.

"Haha.. c'mon.. what've you got to eat around here?" he asked then. He apparently hadn't had any breakfast, and stalked off to the kitchen to raid the fridge, instead of making anything new. Max watched Iggy leave the small, tiny living room, and then turned her head back to stare at Fang apologetically.

_What's she have to be sorry about?_ He wondered amusedly. _My parents aren't _her_ problem._

It was still funny that she got upset over it though, he thought thoughtfully. He hadn't even been thinking about the consequences when he had said it, even.

"Uh.. look.. I'm sorry," she said irritably, looking to the side on the floor, as if she really didn't want to admit it or let it out of her mouth.

"So.. lets.. uh, try to work things out.." she said offhandedly, before getting up and turning around, walking back through the dining area to reach the kitchen where Iggy was at.

Well, at least, Fang thought, she was finally getting it. Afterall, he'd have to live with this horrible girl for a few years. They'd better get on with some sort of way to deal with one another, however much their personalities tend to clash, either way. That issue had struck him this morning, when he'd suddenly remembered that he'd be stuck making her dinner for a while now.

They'd had to get along with eachother one way or another now. He was finally glad she was starting to see it now: they were stuck with one other.

Even though Fang had to stay in this house, here, for another two years, he didn't want to completely make it miserable for himself. He'd make the best of things while he simply had to, even if he _had_ to deal with some crazy ugly beautiful lingerie-_monster_ of a gorilla.

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hmmm...

what will their efforts in _getting along with eachother_ lead to? O.o


	10. We're Working

_Summary: Yup._

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Chapter Ten**: Yup.

"You wanna watch a movie?" she asked disinterestedly to him. He turned his head over to return an equally disinterested grimace.

"Fine, sure," he replied grimly. It was hot.

It was very hot.

It was a hot, hot, _hot_ day.

They were lying in the living room, after dinner, just lying there.

It was _hot_, and there was _nothing_ to do. So they were just lying there. In _anyone_ else's company, they'd much rather prefer to be. But they'd recently been making the actual effort of forcing themselves to deal with one another. It was since Monday morning, that fiasco that'd gone through. Honestly, Max had been feeling guilty, and when he had let out those words, "I _live_ here, bitch," she had felt her heart sink to her stomach.

She had truly, _really_, done nothing that her mom had asked her—to make him feel welcome, cared for, free, and _okay_. He was probably finding it dreadful, for the sole and only reason.. of _her_. Great Job, Max, she had thought irritably, staring at him from across the small living room that day. Her face had been red—in embarrassment, in flustered shame and guilt.. and in, sadness. He had lost his parents, she hadn't been listening to her own mom, and he had been looking back at her with a small, apathetic, albeit curious look on his face.

She suddenly thought that she wouldn't want anybody to treat her the way she had been treating him, if she were to move into a new house, with new people, in a completely new place. He probably didn't even want to be here in _first _place, she had thought irritably, remembering the slightly annoyed look on his face as Iggy had probably presumably dragged him back there for food.

Iggy wasn't allowed to use his kitchen stoves—everyone _knew_ that. Absolutely _brilliant _cook though he may be, his mom was strictly adamant on not letting Igs near any fire.. pyro, that he was. The thought struck everyone as funny, so no worries.

Fang wasn't that bad of a cook either, she thoughtfully noted. He knew how to cook well—which meant he knew how to cook _at all, _considering she was completely dreadful at it. She'd appreciate what she could get. They had eaten a nice and quaint dinner tonight of some boiled soup and some roasted chicken. She had secretly watched him cook, taking a peak into the kitchen on her casual way to the bathroom—he had taken 20 minutes, _tops_, to get dinner together. He had just thrown and sprinkled some spices onto the freshly diced deli meat, sautéed them on a pan, and then stuck them in the oven, setting the timer. The timer had dinged, he finished stirring the broth on the stove, taken it out and set it out onto the kitchen counter in the center. Done. Finished.

That was it. It was incredible. Just twenty minutes tops. And it tasted fine. (Not _divine_, like Iggy's food had, but fine, nonetheless). It had a simple taste to it, like delicacies should—nothing too extravagant, nothing too divine, just a simple taste to the end. Like he had only added in singular spices to give you single, simple, _good_ tastes. There weren't many layers, like Iggy's exotic cooking had, but it was.. really good.

For 20 minutes, it was divine though. Max wondered how he did it--Iggy usually took around two hours to create one of his masterpieces afterall. So far, Fang had made them three dinners, since the night that Fang had offered to relieve Jeb of some work around the house.

Now, after their third dinner together, they were just lying here, splayed onto the floor.

Well, Max was splayed on the floor. Fang was looking quite bored, slouched on the couch behind her. She was wearing short shorts and a baggy tanktop, her hair up in a messy bun. It was _so_ hot.

Fang was wearing a pair of borrowed cargo shorts from Iggy, considering he had little to no summer clothes of his own. _They aren't black_, Max gasped in disamused surprise. _God, _she was bored.

And they _both_ knew that the _only_ reason they were lying _here, _bored to death, was because they could've just as easily been lying in their own _seperate_ rooms, bored to death, but chose not to. Why weren't they in their own AC-ed rooms? Because they knew that dispersing after their quiet dinner was _not_ trying to get along with eachother. So now they were just sitting there, in the same room, irritable, and doing nothing.

So, thats what you called getting along. Max nearly snorted.

You couldn't blame them though. Max had discovered that Fang liked food as much as she. (He was just a bit more graceful about it, but she'd never admit that out loud). Therefore, their dinners generally consisted of no sounds other than slurping and hungrily chewing.

So, now they were done. Then they were bored.

So, they had decided to watch a movie.

"You gonna call Iggy?" Max asked him. Afterall, she didn't want to be up in her room with just Fang.

Or _just_ Iggy, Max pondered thoughtfully. Nevertheless, Fang's silent, unspeaking demeanor was creepy and irritatingly awkward sometimes. Besides, three was a crowd, wasn't it? It was better that way.

It wasn't as if he never spoke though. He spoke in general--he knew _how_ to speak for sure. Max knew firsthand, after all those insults and remarks she'd heard from him. But he spoke when he _wanted_ to, and _that_ was the problem, if you asked Max. It was like everything was bound to his whim or desire--just whether he _wanted_ to do something or not ruled everything. It irritated her to no end. Fang's entire attitude towards her was completely passive-aggressive. Mentally, she snorted. And he thought _she_ had problems. Hmph.

"How?" he asked her irritably in return. He wasn't trying the best of all to 'get along' right now, but granted.. it was _hot_. It only made people even _more_ miserable. God, it was hot.

"Don't you have that stupid shiny, sleek cell phone of yours?" she asked miserably, her head still on the floor. Fang grumbled stupidly.

"He can't stay up at night anyway," he responded. She groaned something that sounded like a question word, and Fang narrowed his eyes before responding.

"He's trying to get his sight fixed," he interjected absentmindedly, "he shouldn't really stress his eyes after the treatments, after six," he elaborated.

It was about 10 now. Thank their messed up sleeping habits—the two usually got up around noon weekly, which is why they usually fell asleep late—around three. Max had gotten fired from her job thanks to those awful, irreconcilable sleeping methods.

Max recalled how peeved she _should_ be that Fang knew more about her best friend than _she_ did these days, but she looked past it. They weren't really best friends anymore, now were they? She was sorta over it.

Usually, Max and Fang would just disperse after dinner, staying up in their respective rooms, doing whatever, while Jeb shuffled around hard at work in his office. But now, they were down here, instead of in their rooms, trying to.. 'get along'.

Max looked up to see Fang had flipped out his shiny black cellphone and had started dialing.

"'Thought you said he was busy," she mumbled agitatedly. _There was AC in her room.. and netflix_..

"Eh, he might not be," Fang answered absentmindedly, "I'm sending him a text now, to see if he actually had a doctor's appointment today.."

"Well there's AC in my room.. and netflix.. tell him to come over anyway," Max let out, "I'm bored.."

"Uh.. okay.. so he's free now.. he said.. he'll meet up, _up _there?" he said curiously, "Whats that supposed to mean?" he asked Max, looking up at her.

She rolled his eyes.

"That means he's going to break a leg trying to jump in through my window.."

Fang stifled a smirk. So those two had two adjacent windows? Talk about a Romeo Iggy. Oh, and talk about _awkward_, especially when they were fighting, he noted amusedly.

"Well, what movies have you got?" he asked, getting to business then. She was right, it was _way_ too hot to stay in here. His room had AC too.

"Well, I've got netflix," she said absentmindedly, groaning as she bent tiredly up from the hard floor.

"Yeah.. I've already watched all your DVDs with Ella," he said absentmindedly too. He was talking about random stuff. Is that how you're supposed to get along with someone you don't like _at all_?

She looked surprised though.

"You have?" Fang turned back to look at her.

"Yes."

"When?"

"..Before she left for camp," he replied. She was stupid, he thought. That answer was a big, Duh, right there.

"Oh," She paused, she hadn't known that while she had shut herself up in her room, that Ella and him had gotten along pretty well together. He didn't know that they watched movies every night to pass the time, while she was upstairs surfing the net boredly. There was only so much you could do on there.

"You guys were pretty tight then?" she asked, recalling the hug Ella had given him before she left.

Fang just gave her a look that _reeked _of 'stupidest person on earth', all over again. She would've gotten angry and mad at frustration with that facial expression, but then took a deep breath, trying to look past it.. We are _trying_ to get _along_, she reminded herself with a semblence of patience.

_It's for mom, it's for mom, it's for mom, it's for mom.. _Max repeated a mantra in her head, closing her eyes shut and repeating it up over and over again in her head, trying to remember why she was dealing with him right now.

Everything about him pissed her off—even his _facial_ expressions. She should tell him that, she considered thoughtfully. Maybe that'd help in the whole compromise matter, in trying to get along. Didn't therapists always say that admitting things outloud was always the first step to finding a solution?

She imagined it in her head: 'Fang, I'm sorry, but it annoys me every time you give me that look on your face. Could you please stop?' she'd politely say to him. 'It'd be nice if you could change your name back too; it annoys me as well.'

Then he'd just say something like, '_I'll consider it if you consider being less retarded. Take your pick, I'm pretty flexible.'_ It was so predictable. That jackass, Max commended irritably in her head, turning to him.

Fang silently observed the look on her face, her seething aura slowly, forcedly, ebbing away, and diluted a silent laugh into his thoughts. Afterall, it _was_ a pretty ridiculous question. He had just been getting to know his amiable little half-sister, Ella. How could he be 'tight' with anyone so easily? Max's mind was so.. freaking simple-minded.

Since he was now friends with Iggy, he supposedly had 'stolen' him from her, and now he was out to get her little sister? How freaking dumb could she get? First off, considering Iggy's crush on Max, and vice versa, their best-friend relationship was _bound_ to collapse eventually. And how could Fang pull off getting away with stealing her _little sister_ anyway? And for a moment he considered wondering how he _ever_ thought he'd _ever_ be able to get along with this abomination of a female body that was sitting in front of him. He stared at her incredulously.

Max rolled his eyes and then started up the stairs, not bothering to beckon him to follow. She seemed lost in her thoughts, he noted curiously. He wondered how many stupid thoughts could possibly be in her stupid little head anyway, for her to get distracted.

He came up, a few seconds after her, to see her rummaging around the computer desk in her desperately pink room, with the fluffy pillows and large bed, that Iggy was lying on top of casually.

"Hey Ig," Fang greeted amiably.

"Yo Fang, I didn't break a leg, eh?" Iggy said, grinning widely, and shaking his leg out in front of him. Fang shook his head in disbelief, and then walked over, past the bed Iggy was lying on to observe the window that was apparently directly across from Iggy's bedroom window.

"Thats an incredible leap man," Fang conversed, "Especially for a friggin' blind guy," he said jokingly. He expected a witty, funny response in turn, but what he got was something different.

"Yeah, I think it'll stay that way for a while now," Iggy suddenly said abruptly. There was still a grin on his face, like there permanently was, but it was.. softer now, somehow. Almost as if he was trying to make a joke out of something that was real. Max was busy rummaging through some of her mess of a stuff around the desk, ignoring their conversation. Fang was silent. He didn't need to say anymore. He realized what Iggy had actually meant by that statement.

There was a chance that the treatments in the cataract would be working, and then there was a chance it wouldn't—it might get good, and then progressively back worse again. And unfortunately, that had been the case with Iggy, it suddenly struck him.

It was quiet suddenly, as the realization sunk into him. Fang didn't know what to say. Iggy broke the silence with some random generative laughter.

"So Max, what're we watching now anyway?" he asked amiably. Fang shook his head sadly, as he turned around and sat down on the pink, cushion-y window seat. Iggy wouldn't even be able to _see_ it. His upbeat character would be heartbreaking to any viewer.. but he was.. he was just Iggy.

"I dunno. You guys feel like Starsky and Hutch?" she asked distractedly, still trying to stick the speaker plugs in.

"Sure," Iggy replied cheerfully. You had to give the guy some credit—always the optimist.

Iggy slid down the side of the bed that was facing the screen and sat down, crossing his legs and leaning against the width of the mattress behind him. Still staring at Iggy's casual behavior incredulously, Fang walked over and leaned back on Max's bed casually, still waiting for her to get her stuff together and put the movie on. His bare legs, clad in a pair of Iggy's summer shorts (Iggy seemed to have hundreds of them, mind you), were by the side of his head. According to Max, Iggy wore summer shorts all winter long. Fang shuddered at the thought, but then reminded himself that this wasn't the east coast anymore. It was hotter here. Californian bums.

"Yo, why're you sweating so hard, man, your legs are _icky _Fang," he commented grossly, in an incredible change of pace.

"Thanks," Fang commented grimly in response.

"We were in the living room, trying to think of something to do down there," Max replied to him, now sitting down on her seat and ordering a movie on the website, "and theres no AC."

"Yeah.. we were trying to--" Fang started the sentence quietly, but then he looked up to Max wryly. She turned her head back to look at him. They exchanged a meaningful glance, keeping their eyes on eachother's as Fang finished slowly, "We were trying to... _get along._"

Cue in Iggy's incredulous laughter here. Max sighed, as she turned around and ordered the movie. Their relationship always seemed to crack Iggy up. _It wasn't funny_, she insisted in her mind.

She was beginning to think she had chronic issues, after all—she was _worried_ _for herself. _After all, she was an imperturbable plain _bitch_ around him, and he was an angsty old _bat _around her. Yup.

She'd never met another kid she absolutely _could not _get along with. Even his _facial _expressions (or lack, thereof) pissed her off. Since when was she _really _that touchy?

She clicked the mouse and then swiftly moved the chair out of the away in front of the screen. Fang got up off the bed to turn the lights off, as Max moved back to fall down onto the side of her bed, turned width-wise to face the large computer screen.

Fang ambled over in the dark to the soft bed as well, as the opening credits for the movie began. Iggy listened quietly in the dark, below them. They watched the movie silently, attentively, cool in the dark AC-ed room.

The movie ended, and they ordered another one, and then Iggy had fallen asleep by the end of Starsky and Hutch 2. Max had told him Iggy wasn't the late-night stay upper. Fang had half shrugged Iggy onto his shoulder and gotten him sleepily to his house, before walking back up to the theirs.

He had noticed the light to Jeb's office room was still open and noted how late and hard Jeb must work for his research. He walked back into Max's room to see her waiting for him boredly, yet expectantly.

"What else did you order?" he asked her.

"Oh. I dunno. Uh—Land of the Lost," she said, looking back down on her computer-synced remote in her hands. Fang nodded. Bad graphics, but amusing nonetheless. Fiddling around on it a bit, Max finally found the play button.

"There," she said triumphantly to herself, grinning. Fang nodded bemusedly at her, sitting down on the floor in front of her bed, leaning back against the edge of the mattress, and taking the seat where Iggy had been sitting, on the floor. The viewing position was just about the same, for the only exception of the carpeted floor was alot more hard in comparison to her ridiculously soft pillow-engulfed bed.

Max shrugged and flipped over expectantly, waiting for the movie to start. Her head was right up next to his own, her chin resting on her raised palms on the bed and her eyes bright and wide awake despite it being 2 in the morning. She was laying flat on her stomach, across her huge, large bed, staring the dark screen expectantly.

Fang grinned in the dark. Despite being a complete, utter, monster, she was pretty childish in some ways. She was a lot like Ella in some ways as well, although they were still two completely different people, he agreed at the end. The movie started.

And the movie ended. By this time, Fangs head had leaned his head back against the side of the mattress, his neck was raised high so that his head could rest against the mattress, and his pupils were looking down to follow the screen. It was about 3 already, but he was still awake. So was Max. He looked up and turned his head questioningly once the ending credits had finished. He had been watching them blearily.

"You wanna order another one?" he wondered groggily, saying it allowed completely untruthfully. He felt like falling on his head right now.

"Yeah.." Max let out, looking down at the remote on her hands again to order another one. Fang blinked a few times, in surprise. She wanted to watch more? Oh great. His neck was feeling like it was about to snap off any second. His legs had extended to lie flat on the floor haphazardly towards the screen.

Max had evidently tired of her position too, and was now just laying on her bed properly, vertically, simply her head turned lazily on the crook of her elbow, to stare at the screen.

She was now fuddling quietly with the remote, and slowly got up off the bed to walk towards the computer and move the mouse a bit around online to figure out the logistics of something. Fang felt like falling asleep right there. He watched her bending over the desk and reach over and slowly grazed his eyes over all the lines on her lithe figure. And in the back of his head, someone said to him, _if you were a better brother, you would steal those shorts from her and set them on fire so that she can never wear them again. _He shook his head suddenly to wake him up from those allusive thoughts and then proceeded to pointedly look away from the curve of her behind. It was true though, he commended--if he were her teenage brother, he would definitely not allow her to wear such things in public.

But he _was_ her teenage brother. Why wasn't he telling her this right now, like how he should be doing? _Max, you better never wear those shorts outside unless you want to get strangled, groped, and molested. _Great, Fang thought, now Max was making him redundant. That didn't allude the question however: why wasn't he forbidding her from wearing them now?

He considered the question thoughtfully. For one, and foremost, he hated this girl. The feeling seemed to be mutual because although she pitied him and felt guilty half the time, she couldn't help hating him as well. Why did they hate eachother? Fang seemed to have already forgotten, but rest assured, the hate was definately there. If this girl were to get strangled, groped, and molested, why would he care?

He pushed the thought out of his head. No girl deserves to be molested, unless she's a downright nymphomaniac and wants to be. The thought led him back to perverted teenage boy tangent somewhere, but eventually he found himself back to considering Max and her not-so-allusive buttocks. He stared at them silently and apathetically as he tried to come up with other reasons. The second reason would probably be that if _he_ forbade her to do _anything_, _she_ would probably _bite his head off_. Quite literally at that.

Which led to the third conclusion: despite the fact that he was her brother by all blood and technicalities, he was in simply no position to tell her what not and what to do. He supposed he could do this with Ella.. but Max was a completely different sphere of reverence with him.

Nevertheless, the resolve had set within Fang's mind. He was sure he'd never let Max go out into public wearing those things.

But then what was this? Public? He reminded himself that he was 'family' to her, technically. But still, he muddled over in his brain, Iggy had _just_ been here. He wasn't family.

It suddenly struck him that Iggy had probably been jumping over through her window since they were toddlers. How many times had he seen her dressed like that? What about in her underwear? Fang recalled the first few days he had been here, and Max had been walking around the house completely basically unclothed, until she'd realized he was there and promptly started caring alot more about her modesty in the morning. Because _he_ was obviously not considered family to her.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered why he was asking himself these questions.. Especially, since Iggy was legally blind, and couldn't see anything anyway.

"You can lie on the bed," she told him, "you're going to get back pain or something like that, laying like that for four hours."

Fang grunted in response and grudgingly got up with the thoughts about Max still spinning around in his head. He lay down flat on the bed, perpendicular to her would-be form, so that her straight-laying feet would touch the outside of the edges of his own, but their torsos would be miles away. He was laying straight on the bed in the width form, his head lifted up to directly face the screen, whereas she would be laying properly on it length-wise, while turning her head to the side to look at it. Fang carefully wondered why he had measured this out.

Somewhere along the way, Fang had fallen asleep in the middle of the movie. Somewhere along the way, he had straightened himself out as well, because when he woke up, he was laying properly, vertically.

He found himself on the opposite side of the king sized bed as Max, but nevertheless, on it properly. He wondered at what point he had fallen asleep, but then recalled he couldn't even tell the name of the fourth movie Max had ordered.

He woke up groggily, getting off the soft bed, which he had been underneath the covers of too. Sitting on the side of the bed, facing the window that directly looked into Iggy's own closed-curtained ones, he groggily observed it, before yawning. He stretched his hands high up above his hand, startled at having woken up in a pink room much larger than his own bland cream-colored one. He had black sheets and grey furniture. Max had tan furniture and mostly pink everything else it seemed, including her walls.

He looked around groggily, and realized the air felt nice and cool. Oh. That'd explained why he had been underneath the covers—he had probably absentmindedly grasped for some in the night, considering the AC had been on. Nevertheless, the room felt good, considering he _knew_ how hot it was directly outside the closed windows.

He suddenly jerked his head back, twisting it around to catch the sight of Max's back. She was lying on her side, still faced towards the computer screen. She had probably fallen asleep in the middle of the movie too, he decided, considering the screen was blinking agitatedly, as if not having been properly shut down. He walked around the bed, feeling in a superlatively good mood and walked over to Max, still asleep.

He knelt down by the side of her bed where she was, and observed her gently for a moment. She certainly didn't seem like a monster in her sleep, nor the bitch he came to know so well as her. Pushing those thoughts to a latter part of his mind, he then gently put his hand on her shoulder and shook her.

"Hey.. hey, wake up, Max," he gently let out, then worriedly wondered how bad his morning breath was. Either way, it would've been bound to help her wake up. She groaned suddenly, before snapping her eyes awake.

"Fang?" she asked groggily.

"Yeah. I think we fell asleep watching a movie last night," he said to her. She blinked a few times, getting used to the light.

"Oh."

"Well, lets go downstairs and eat some breakfast. I think its afternoon now," he suggested dazedly, still yawning, himself.

"Yeah.." she replied, contagiously yawning as well, "I'll be right down soon then."

Fang left her room blinking tiredly, clad in wrinkly slept-in cargo shorts and an equally wrinkly t-shirt. He left the door wide open behind him, before reaching the bathroom across the hallway and walking into it casually. He'd never, in his life, had _ever_ had to share a bathroom with girls. It sort of astounded him that he had to in this house. He washed his hands and splashed his face, and as he did so, decided that the efforts between him and Max hadn't been wasted at all.

They'd maybe get along with each other after all. They were _trying_ to, after all, and it was sorta working, after all.

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A/N:

THings.. are finally getting interesting... Lol.. sorry for the 10 chapter wait.. __

Okay. Things will officially heat up starting from the next chapter.

Phew. About time.


	11. Limbs

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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**Okay! Sorry for the long wait :/**

**I will start writing again, and hopefully I'll update if I get enough response from you guys.**

**But I know I promised *heat* in the last chapter, but I promised that -2 months- ago. Therefore, sorry, but THE NEXT chapter will have alot more heat than this one. Its just that I promised you guys that stuff back when I knew what I had wanted to write. Now I have to ease into things all over again. But worry not. From this point forward, the story is going to get really angsty, and actual ROMANCE and attraction will start to show.**

**Okay. Hope that cleared things up. Sorry, and Enjoy. :(**

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**Chapter Eleven: Limbs.**

They ended up watching movies the next night too. It was always silent between them, both paying attention to watching the movie, but they were in the same room and thus, tolerating one another, so that was enough. They continued to do it, because that was their resolve: to get along with one another.

Fang walked into her room casually as she fiddled around with the computer, getting the screen ready. He resolutely and calmly sat down on the carpet by the side of the bed, facing the screen and Max. He pointedly looked away from her and instead busied himself in occupying his face in a terminably bored expression as he waited for her to finish.

She took note of his entrance, heard him enter, and continued fiddling around until she was done.

They didn't talk or say much, but it worked. They were no longer so hostile to another—at least not _antagonistic_ at least. It'd be going too far to call them friendly, afterall, they barely knew one another, but the point was that they were no longer outwardly antagonistic towards eachother. It was a question and proper manner of tolerating and accepting one another's presence.

Besides, Fang had nothing better to do at night anyway. And Max had slightly begun to feel pathetic being online MSN all the time when everyone was off doing stuff and she was just sitting at home at night waiting for instant messages. Neither of them really had anything much better to do anyway.

So that was the second night. Normally, Max considered, she would've felt annoyed at Fang coming into her room unannounced and neccesarily uninvited, but she didn't really mind for this everyday. Afterall, it was much less pathetic than watching a movie all by herself. She didn't really mind his presence now, with the lack of Iggy.

Iggy had left last night—or, more correctly been dragged off unconcious by Fang into his room—and she and Fang had stayed together last night as they continued watching (although she had to admit he had lower stamina than she did), and it was fine.

He had fallen asleep on her bed, but it was alright. Her bed was king-sized, aka, huge, and he had been all the way on the opposite side of the covers, despite being beneath the same blanket. He hadn't even touched her, and quite honestly probably didn't even know how he got there. Either way, she didn't have any problem with it.

And being waken up by him in the morning wasn't irritating, like how she'd expected herself to respond. She shrugged it off though.

Iit beat an alarm clock at least.

But what surprised her the most, was the slightly childish, groggy look on his face. Innocent and unreserved, so much unlike what she'd seen from him from his thus stay at her house. She had normally just been seeing him as looking angsty and overtly defensive in a variety of ways. Generally unapproachable.

And she wasn't like Ella or Iggy. She couldn't make an effort to warm up to someone. Which is why she had seen Fang as not worth an effort in the first place—because he had seemed so stupid and unwilling. Ella and Iggy had made an effort with him, and obviously seemed to like him a lot. Ella had basically begun seeing him as a luvable older-brother figure, as noted from her departure to camp, and Iggy had basically made Fang a best friend of his. That was apparent in that Fang knew more about Iggy nowadays than she did, and a lot of his own friends, she'd be willing to bet, evidenced by Fang expressing knowledge about Iggy's glaucoma and lasik stuff.

That morning when he'd knelt by the side of her bed and gently rocked her shoulder back and forth, his eyes focused solely on hers, for some reason, Max didn't see him as so angsty and reserved anymore. He seemed just like a normal person who had gotten up from sleep, groggy, tired, and needing a good splash on the face with water over the sink. He'd seemed like a child, and not the crude, self-righteous jerk she'd come to know over this month and a half.

Which is why she didn't mind that he'd marched in here right now, into her room, sitting down on the floor in front of the bed. Quite honestly, she'd kinda hoped he'd come in, and that they'd do their movie night again, which is why she had been getting her computer ready.

It was a nice, taciturn relationship they were starting. Nothing much was spoken between the two of them, but a quiet acceptance and apathy was set between them. At least it wasn't the previous hate that had preoccupied the two's minds though.

So he sat down in front of the bed, and she turned around and climbed on top of it, digging into the covers. The AC was on, so it was pleasantly cool. Max had put 'Mean Girls' on, just to see how willing Fang was to get along with her. It was almost a dare. Would he leave if he had to sit through a chick flick? Or would he say?

Much to her surprise, as the title screen came on, Fang didn't move an inch, still sitting there on the floor beneath her bed, his legs spread out wide in front of him, in a typical guy-like fashion. He didn't even flinch at the title page, but instead continued watching, the terminally bored look on his face remaining.

Max observed it steadily for a mere moment before letting go of the pause and climbing up onto her bed again. His face was always terminally bored, but what was he hiding beneath there? He obviously didn't mind/wanted to watch with her, since he was obviously here, and not moving.. but he was so.. apathetic.. about it.

Zoning out of the flicker colors on the moniter and lost in her own thoughts, Max suddenly hit an epiphany: that was the reason she hated Fang so much—she didn't get him at all. He made no sense to her, and wasn't seeming to do so as time continued. What was she supposed to do?

At least this was helping them a little bit—their movie nights.

Max shrugged her thoughts off as they traveled farther away from her and then tried to zone back into watching their first movie. It ended and they put on another one, but halfway through, a hesitant grunt/growl thing sounded out. It took her a few seconds to realize it was Fang's rough voice.

"Can I get up on the bed? My necks' sort of killing me," he seemed to let out irritatedly. Surprised, Max blinked a few times, digesting the request that Fang so obviously didn't want to make, before nodding strangely.

Fang craned his neck around, his other palm swung around it and watched her assess her acceptance. He turned back around before lifting himself back up on his palms from the cold hard tile floor and plopping himself horizontally on the bed, much like how he had been yesterday, at first.

And just like yesterday, he had righted himself on the bed at some point, so that he faced the screen while he lay behind her, beside her. Max had fallen asleep on her forearm, so he was propped up on a pillow on his right elbow, watching the screen from over her sleeping shoulder.

Once the movie ended, Fang's tired, yet sleepless eyes shifted over from the zoned black screen to around the dark room, assessing his situation all over again. Max lay in front of him, cuddled up beneath the same blanket he was under, blissfully sleeping. He realized he didn't know how to work the netflix station or Max's computer media, so he couldn't put on another movie. Considering he was feeling superlatively unsleepy at the moment, the thought irritated him.

And then he realized Max would probably kill him, unleash her freaking bitchtastic-crazy wrath on him, if he were to mess any of her computer equipment up. She probably didn't even know how to work half of this stuff herself, he thought wryly as he loomed over the desktop media center thoughtfully. He had gotten up out of the bed to assess the area, but then had decided against touching most of her stuff, fearing the PMS-Queen's screechaholic wrath. He decided just to turn the blinking moniter off, realizing he probably wouldn't be able to sleep with that anyway.

Once he had pressed the off button on the desktop, he walked over around the bed to the opposite side of the room and the wall on the other side of the bed, opposite to the computer. Max was still sleeping on the edge of her insanely gigantic bed quietly. Fang walked over to one of her two windows—to the one without the windowseat, and to the one with the air conditioner attached to it.

Bending over a bit, he squinted his eyes to adjust to the pitch blackness in the room to figure out how the setting and knobs worked. With a little bit of feeling around, he felt it was safe to say that it was the same type that was in his room right now. Reaching blindly, he looked for and turned a knob.

The temperature went up, losing cool air, soon after. Tiredly turning around, Fang realized how ached his muscles actually were today. He spent the day playing basketball with a bunch of Iggy's friends from the high school he was coming to attend, and a kid on the block really tight with them, the Gasman.

Rubbing his eyes wearily, Fang walked over the short distance from the AC, to the bed Max was sleeping on. He got on on the opposite side, and got over to lie ontop of the blanket—which was the reason he'd lowered the AC in the first place—to sleep ontop of the blankets, rather than beneath them, with Max.

Yawning quietly he fell into a deep sleep.

He woke up beside her, still ontop of the blankets.

The only problem was, so was she. And their legs were tangled together completely. And her head, despite being a respectable distance away from him, was tucked under his chest, and beneath his chin. Despite it all, they were now both in the center of the bed. Fang's legs were intertwined with hers in ways he wasn't even really sure of.

All he knew was that it was natural. It was comfortable. The morning light was coming in, and it was probably around 6, but his eyes were groggy and he was sleepy, since he'd only gone to bed a couple hours ago.

He had assessed the situation, felt the clash of limbs around their legs, Max's deep breathing steady and comforting on his chest—the nice scent of her shampoo, with the slight grease indicating a necessity of a shower. He noticed it all groggily, but still nonetheless. And then he went back to sleep, arms resolutely by his sides.

Max's arms were between her sides in front of her, her head tucked neatly into his chin and under his chest, and their legs all tangled up between them.

She would wake up soon.

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Please review :(

This chapter begins the _actual _story. w00t.


	12. Why?

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Twelve: Why?**

When Fang woke up, he was resolutely on her bed, alone.

After cracking his neck a few times and rubbing it tiredly, he opened his eyes and looked around at his surrounding quietly. It was Max's room. Again.

He looked around to the side of him, adjusting to his surroundings, before noticing he was _alone _in her room. He turned his neck and glances at the spance of bed below his right arm. It was empty, but crinkled, as if been obviously slept on.

Like lightening, the memory quickly flashed to him—the feeling of groggily noticing the close proximity he and Max were to eachother, and then going back to sleep with her so near to him. The comfortable climate, the reserved amazement at seeing how peaceful and relaxed she looked right against him. Feeling the soft thighs that her run-up pajama legs revealed, right on his palm.

He almost gagged at the recallation of that memory—why the heck was he remembering that? Where the heck was his.. Oh. Their legs had been tangled up together, and one of her legs had been resting against his waist—not completely over it, but simply bent up, with the knee resting on it. His palm had somehow found his way to rest over on the under-curve of that knee..

Ah—shit. Max.. she was gonna kill him, or castrate him, or something? What the freak was _wrong_ with him? He had groggily woken up for a second and then had simply gone back to sleep in that same situation? AGH. What was _wrong_ with him?

He had even turned the AC off so he could lie on top of the blankets and not beneath them, with Max. He had done that as a preemptive strike to prevent any shit like that to happen. He was simply just sensitive to how Max would react if he got three feet too close to her on the bed, so he had opted to strike out any possibility by lying down on the bed. He knew it wasn't right for a guy and girl to lie on any large, comfortable bed together, but hopefully not being under the same blanket would've ruled out that misconception.

He was totally toast now. Max had already gotten up. There was the hopeful notion that perhaps when she had woken up, they'd been seperated from eachother.. but that hope soon died as he distinctly recalled feeling the detangling of his lower limbs and a creak of the bed as a weight lifted off.

No. She had definitely woken up with him around her. Crap.

He looked up to Max's ceiling, feeling the utter despair haunting his soul. Here he was, trying to get along with her, and now he was completely screwed. He'd killed any possible chance of her liking him for the rest of their 2-year high school careers.

Knowing Max—and she _seemed _like the authoritative person-in-boss type of person—she might as well just make junior and senior year heck for him if she hated him. She seemed like that type of person, the person in boss, that people would listen to (perhaps just out of fear), but in any respect.. Max seemed like she had a lot of power, or could have a lot if she wanted it.

The despair was slowly sinking into him, and he felt like closing his eyes and pretending to go back to sleep on her bed, to just escape the doom that was waiting for him downstairs in the form of his heavenly ridiculous half-sister. Was it really this right of him to be scared of her? To be on the tip of his toes to keep from pissing her off?

He frowned suddenly, just about growling in his head. That was the reason he hated her so much. She was such a princess, and he _couldn't _believe he was this wary of pissing her off. IT WORKED. How did such princesses—blond, conceited, bitch-bimbo ones—manage to do that to you? How did that even freaking work? Somehow they always got you to be scared of pissing them off, just cause they were so confidant and self-assured, in charge. Fang couldn't believe it was working. It was pissing her off. His ex-girlfriend was also like this, back in Massachussets, Lissa—exactly why he had broken up with her. She was such a princess, always needed to have her way, always needed him to do what she wanted him to. They were all such princesses.

He was getting angrier and angrier at himself by the second. That was it.

He wouldn't stand this. He wouldn't deal with Max bitching at him over what he did—he didn't _do _anything! _She _was the one that had gotten up out of the blankets_—he _had gotten _out _of the blankets for the sole purpose of giving her sensitive self from space. She couldn't make him feel guilty for something like this.

With that resolute, determined, angry thought in his mind, he finally got off the really high, pink covered bed, and walked out the door into the bathroom to brush, shave, and wash up. He walked out of the bathroom, still clad in his baggy, dark-navy striped pajamas, and plain white shirt. He walked downstairs with the resolution in his eyes to counter any force Max could throw at him, with an equivalent and adamant stand. He turned around for a second, contemplating going back to his room and dressing in better clothing.

The only reason he had been dressed in pajamas last night anyway, was that because he had changed right into them after a shower. He definitely hadn't been planning on spending the night in Max's room at all, but the thought just didn't seem to occur to him in the morning. He had been lulled by the sense of convenience rather than rationality in the state of non-sleep in 3 in the morning.

Agh, you stupid Fang, he thought to himself as he trudged down the stairs, still clad in pajamas. Although he committed himself to _not_ being scared by Max, he couldn't help but feel incredibly stupid for getting himself into this situation in the first place. It wasn't like he did it all by himself, but it didn't change the fact that regardless who had done it, he was still the one that was going to be hated in the end anyway. Ugh.

He trudged downstairs begrudgingly, just waiting for the deathglares and screeching to start, and his heart silently retreated a bit as he saw the living room was empty. She wasn't there.

Why was he going around _looking_ for his doom now? Well, he might as well get it over with, he thought. It was pretty much inevitable anyway. Why prolong it?

He walked across the tiny living room to the dining area, which was also, empty. He gulped a bit in his head as he left for the last possible place.. the kitchen.

He walked in, mentally flinching a little bit as he was caught by the sight of her behind the counter. Her head was down as she was putting some stuff together, and he stood there for a little while, at the entrance, just waiting for her to start screaming.

However, he perplexedly noticed, she didn't really notice him—or, just wasn't caring about him being there. Maybe she just really didn't notice; she didn't seem blasé enough to just not care. Fang was pretty sure Max wasn't patient enough to play the silent-game or the ignoring game. She was headstrong and direct. He liked that about her, he supposed.

Woah. Where'd that come from? The only reason you like that about her is because it makes situations like this easier, he reminded himself resolutely. It was easier to stand three or four hours of outright screaming, rather than taciturn little quiet i-hate-yous. He supposed that in that sense, Max wasn't so much of a princess—she wasn't graceful enough. Sort of like a snot-filled, irritable elephant who was stuck in a tutu.

He mused that over quietly in his head and he took a silent deep breath and walked straight into the kitchen, taking a seat on a stool across the large counter from her. She was bound to notice him them, and then jump right into the accusations. He was just waiting for it.

Max looked up from the sandwich she was making, and glanced at his presence across the counter from him.

"Oh, Fang, I'm going to the mall today with Nudge—back to school shopping," she said, "and you got a letter from Ella in camp," she continued, angling the sandwich up to take a bite from it.

Fang noticed that indeed, Max was dressed, sneakers adorned on her feet in the kitchen, a bag slung over her shoulders, completely ready to go out any second now.

Fang watched her from his slumped form, half surprised, and half accusatory.

She was acting as if everything was normal.

She was even informing him as to where she was going. She never usually did that. It wasn't really a custom in their relationship. They did whatever they wanted to, and the other person didn't care.

'Cept yesterday, Fang had quietly told Max he was going out to play basketball with Iggy before exiting the doorway. Max had nodded uncaringly while going back to watching her cartoon. That was just him making an effort to be nice though.

This was different. Max was looking him straight in the eye and informing him of her whereabouts as if she really needed to tell him, or was waiting for him to wake up to tell him before leaving.

Naw, that was wrong, Fang conceded. She was making herself a sandwich now—she didn't wait for him to tell him.

Fang looked her straight in the eye and nodded, something twitching on his face. He was giving her a significant look as he nodded, questioningly asking her if she remembered how they had woken up. She didn't seem to care though, or at least didnt acknowledge the question in his curious eyes, ignoring it.

She picked her bag up off the floor and slung it over a shoulder, before raising an arm to him.

"I'm coming back around 6," she said turning around and going out the backyard through the sliding door in the kitchen, "and hotdogs for dinner would be good," sounded out behind her as she left.

Fang recoiled back from the shock. She hadn't gotten angry from him. From his deductions, he calculated that she, for sure, remembered the way their feet were tangled up around one another, and how his left hand had been on behind her right thigh, lifted up right against him. He was _sure_ she knew. Why didn't she say anything?

Right now, Fang was practically killing himself murderously. And also, he noted, she didn't _demand_ food. She suggested hotdogs—but knowing Max, that in itself was a demand anyway, just in nicer terms.

Max was pissing him off right now.

He put his head in his hands on top of the counter and growled quietly, messing up his already haphazard hair that he hadn't bothered to fix before.

Slowly and wearily, he trudged back up the stairs to Max's room, and made the bed. He sincerely doubted she ever did that herself anyway, but he thought it might be a nice reminder to forget what this morning was.

Maybe, he hypothized, she had realized it was _her_ fault that she had lifted herself up out of the blankets and joined him ontop of them. Maybe thats why she was being so apathetic about this—because she knew that _he_ was the victim. Hmm.. he mulled the thought over in his head, but turning it over, he realized that Max would never admit to being the guilty one.

So what was her _problem_?

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Fang was splayed lying down on his twin sized bed, in his bland and unpersonal room, with headphones jacked around his ears and his fingers steady on the laptop keyboard lying on his lap. He was subconciously rocking his head back and forth to the music playing on his laptop as colors flickered over on the reflection of his pupils. Beside his bed lay his small suitcase that he had brought with him to Ride's house that first day. It lay open, with a few things mussed up inside it.

Honestly speaking, he was admittedly living out of his suitcase. There were a few clothes in the empty chest of drawers he was given, but he hadn't come to use it. The only clothes he had put in there were the ones that had been freshly washed by Max's mom, and didn't make sense to throw back into his little black case. He hadn't bothered to fully move into the room—afterall, it wasn't really his, now was it? He was just a guest int heir house, and he was staying in the guestroom, of course. He hadn't bothered to personalize it, or make it his own, since it'd only be his for two years.

Yes, two years sounds like a large spanse of time, but he didn't really care. He was living fine as it was now, and he didn't really feel like filling the chests and drawers full of his stuff right now anyway. It just wasn't really worth the effort, when he didnt really need to. All his shaving stuffs lay ontop of the pile of clothes hanging out of the open suitcase, as they were the only things he really used regularly. Frankly speaking, his room was an impersonal mess.

He got a room, with furniture, bland, but with furniture, and he barely made use of half of it. He was laying on the bed, simply because it was there. But he would've done fine sleeping on the floor in an empty room with no furniture. He didn't need it, and afterall, most of his stuff was laying out of his open suitcase anyway. It was really all unneccesary to him.

All Jeb Ride provided for him were adequate lodgings and bitchy confusing daughter. He, himself, was never around, Dr. Valencia Martinez, his wife, was never around. And even the nice little half-sister he'd come to grow quite fond of, wasn't really around at the moment either.

He was making use of the things he needed and was provided as such: adequate lodgings and an annoying, bitchy sister. He was making use of them as they were given to him. He would've been perfectly fine sleeping on an empty, hard, floor, cause all Jeb really had to do for him was provide a roof over his head.

He didn't really need all the excess, so he wasn't really using them.

Fang jerked up in surprise as the door opened. Max's figure peeked into him. His brows furrowed and he straightened up, sitting against the headboard with the laptop on his lap, instead of laying down on the bed with the laptop on his waist. He pushed the headphones on his head out of the way and looked up to her questioningly. He had given her dinner, wasn't that enough?

Well, the real reason he was here right now, up in his room, instead of miserably sitting in the living room with her, was because he was pretty sure he and Max weren't going to try and get along with eachother anymore—at least after what had happened this morning, he was pretty sure Max wouldn't want to take anymore chances with him, even though she had been acting curiously respectful of him.

The curious gaze remained on his face, and despite the fact that he didn't really consider this room or home his own, he felt slightly violated and extremely irritated that Max was just _there_ in the entrance to his small 9x15 feet room, looking around at his personal things.

He watched her eyes travel around the room as if she was looking at something new—she probably was, he considered, seeing that she probably hadn't been in here since he had moved in two months ago—and watched her frown as she took notice of the haphazard suitcase he was living out of, lying next to the floor beside the bed. Really, he was just counting on the bare necessities. Like he'd said before, all Jeb needed to provide for him was a place for lodgings. Thats what he was using this for—a place for lodgings. One couldn't really be surprised at the way he was living, he mediated to himself, in his head.

He was beginning to grow really irritated at Max's invasion of his personal space, his headphones hanging around his neck, and his fingers poised over his keyboard all over again. He stared up at her with hints of agitation on his face. He had the incredible urge to say, "What?" but opted not to, especially considering how tense he felt about the situation from the last morning.

After twisting her head around the room for the third or fourth time, her pupils slid back to her eye sockets to look directly at him, lying on the bed.

"I'm watching Mulan," she stated, and Fang assessed it cautiously.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't so against still getting along with him, he thought. Maybe she had conceded that last night was just a mistake and an accident.

But why was she willing to take that option again?

Now Fang admitted to himself, that he was an incredible thinker—he mulled things over all the time—but even a kid like him could get sick of thinking things over all the time.

"Okay," he replied.

"You coming?" she asked him.

"Yeah." And he pressed the power button on his laptop and took the headphones off from around his neck, leaving it on the bed as he walked towards the door, where Max had turned and had begun heading back towards her room. He followed her, as she turned and started setting up the media center. Fang sat down on the bed, lifting his legs up off the floor to crossing them into his lap, and telling himself he was definitely going back to his room tonight after the second movie, to make sure he didn't fall asleep on her bed accidentally or whatever. He also reminded himself to _not_ lay down on the bed, and to just stay there, cross-legged ontop of the end of the mattress.

Max put the movie on and got up on the bed, finding herself beneath the blankets and snuggling into them in the cold air-conditioned room.

They watched Mulan, and then The Lion King. Unexpectadly, Max was really into cartoon, he had noted previously. He had to admit though, cartoon movies from Disney's golden age were pretty good though. He leaned back on his palms, still sitting upright on the bed, adamant to not lie down.

"You can lie down, you know," Max graciously informed him as she played with the remote to put on Lion King 2.

Fang's eyes abruptly slid to her dark form in the room suspiciously. What was she asking him for? Did she want evidence to hate him this time? Is this why she was being so... like this? What was she trying to do? Fang didn't trust her with any good intentions. Whatever she was doing was probably just to corner him and beat him up.

Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of him—and his aching back. He lay down on the other side of the bed and propped his head up on his elbow to get a better sight of the moniter screen as he completely ignored the beginning of the movie and tried to figure out what Max was doing here right now.

Maybe cause she had to go out today, she had to get up early and couldn't accuse him of anything. With that thought in mind he looked over to the scheming Max's form in front of him, only to be surprised that she had already fallen asleep.

He leaned over her form to look more carefully at her face, and indeed, she was asleep.

Well, that was it. The movie was only halfway through, but the only reason he was actually here was because Max had probably wanted to play a trick on him and have a legit reason to hate him. He got up out of the bed and walked over to the computer screen to shut it off and was just about ready to go back to his own room when he turned around.

Max wanted to trick him? Well what if she didn't succeed? She would just get even more pissed off, wouldn't she? But in this case.. how would she be able to justify being angry at him? She would just be pissed off at herself.

That, Fang realized, would be ultimate satisfaction. Little princess like Max and his ex, Lissa, couldn't _stand_ feeling self-guilt. That, Fang commended, would be ultimate satisfaction to _him._

He shook his head a few times, wondering just exactly what he was thinking, but then got his thoughts sorted out together and walked back over to the AC window.

He turned the knob up to make the room colder and then walked back to the bed, plopping himself onto the bed, ontop of the blankets.

That would make sure she'd stay inside the blankets all night long—it was too cold to get out of them instinctively. He was dressed in flannel and cargos and would probably be able to stand it if he tried hard enough. The point was to endure it out and wake up perfectly innocently and leave her pissed that her plan to hate him wouldn't work.

Stupid crazy bitch, he thought, bent on finding reasons to hate him. What was with her?

He never exactly realized why she hated Jeb so much, he wondered suddenly, but the thought suddenly drifted off, as sleep consumed him.

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When he woke up, she was still lying asleep beside him. _Beside_ him, but they were both in their respective conditions: he was ontop of the blankets, and she was underneath.

Except.. except that there was the feeling of soft lips pressed tight against the juncture of his collarbone, the outline of a tight nose, eyes, and forehead felt on his neck.

They were outside and inside the blankets, but they were pressed tight against eachother ontop of the seperation. Fang woke up surprised to find his arm had swung over her smaller form over the blanket. She was huddled up like a cocoon beneath them, hugging intimately close to each other on the place that they weren't separated by the blanket. Skin-on-skin contact from her face to his neck.

And.. and surprisingly, it felt good. It felt really, really good. Maybe it was cause he practically freaking freezing after a night spent in a fridge-like AC-ed room only to prove a point that obviously, by the situation he was in right now, he couldn't exactly prove.

Like she was a repulsive static shock, he got up off of her, the feeling of her nose and eyes and mouth against his neck still lingering there. He turned around and his legs swung over the side of the bed facing the windows. He was getting his sleepy thoughts together and hating himself. Waking up with the feeling of disaster and self-disgust was definitely not a fun thing. It only gave you a headache, and a respulsive sense of self. What was he to do now?

Oh yeah. To hurry the freak up out of this room and go back to his own. Maybe take a cold shower in the middle of that journey or something. No, he was freaking freezing his ass off. He shuddered a bit in the cold and rubbed his arms, when he suddenly heard a voice from behind him.

"Its so cold.. you should get underneath the covers.." Max mumbled out sleepily, her head still half indulged beneath the covers now as well, now that Fang neck was no longer there to provide a source of heat/comfort. Fang twisted his neck and looked back at her incredulously.

What had she just said?

But she had definitely gone back to the world of slumber now, her breathing even and eyes restfully closed. Fang shook his head, trying to wake himself up, but it was only around 8, and he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep.

So he plopped himself back down and found himself beneath the covers, relishing in the warmer feeling and huddling up into himself.

When Max woke up she found herself huddled up completely, with even her head beneath the blankets , in the center of the bed, which was really no surprise. It was strange that the AC was turned up so high, but she was pretty warm anyway. Why? Because she was huddled up in very close proximity to... Fang.

Now _that_ was a surprise. With a gulp she vaguely remembered something like telling him he better get underneath the covers since it was so cold. She didn't really regret that.. it _was_ cold. So now he was sleeping with her beneath the covers.

Since when was his presence so reassuring though?

He wasn't really touching her in any way. They weren't deliberately touching eachother anyway—they were just very close to one another, feeling the body heat radiating off of eachother.

Her eyes grew wide as they traveled around the area she was in, assessing everything around her—which was rather difficult to do, considering she and her head were beneath the blanket. All that was in her line of sight was Fang's black t-shirt and the haphazard navy/red flannel he was wearing over it. She quietly and silently watched his chest, facing her, expand and retract, in a slow, steady pace.

His head was probably outside of the blanket. For some strange reason, she didn't really know what to do.

Yesterday, when she had woken up, she found herself splayed all over Fang, and vice versa. She hadn't really known what to do or think then either, but had untangled herself from him, and simply called it off as a result of sleepiness and tiredness. She was pretty sure he had placed himself ontop of the blankets to give her some space, but she had found herself ontop of them as well.

From what she knew about Fang, he was certainly annoying, and knew how to get on her nerves. He knew how to make the mild, irritating, nerve-wracking comments to make her feel all flustered, but despite all that, she sincerely doubted that he would have had any ill intentions within him. Afterall, _he_ wanted to get along with _her_. She was perfectly fine hating him, even if the guilt was wracking in her.

But he seemed like a nice guy, with no ill-intentions, and the only proof of that would be that he was friends with Iggy. And not only was he friends with Iggy, he could _control _Iggy. Now, Max didn't know much about guys, but in 6th grade, she had begun to see a new side of her best friend: the perverted one. That was just about when Iggy began to make a bunch of guy friends, much to her annoyance. And all of his guy sense seemed to have one thing in common—a certain type of sense of humour Iggy had just then recently developed—one that Max didn't quite get.

Regardless, it seemed the Fang wasn't as lecherous as that. She knew he was trying to put some distance between them, so despite the stupid lingerie/underwear/pajama comments, he was a good guy.

So what was there to say about this situation? That she felt bad for the strange look that was on his face yesterday morning, before she left for the mall? She didn't really know what to do or say about him.

But she didn't really mind. Or care.

So what if he was sleeping on the same bed as her? Jeebuz Dice, its not as if the world was coming to an end. So they watched movies all night long and fell asleep. Big deal.

Didn't change the fact that it was freaking _freezing_ in here. Subconciously at the thought, she huddled closer to him, her head nearly touching his chest, but not quite.

And suddenly, abruptly, his steady, soft-paced breathing stopped. It skipped a few beats, Max wearily noted beneath the blanket. Fang shifted around him and then suddenly stopped. He stayed still for a moment, no longer laying on his side to face Max's form, but now laying on his back on the mattress.

He was still and silent for a moment, and a strange prickling on Max's comforter-covered head told her he was staring at the long Max-shaped lump laying on the bed, previously nearly against his chest. She heard him take a few deep breaths before getting up off the bed.

Max felt herself instinctively missing the presence of him beside her. But only because it was cold, she commended honestly.

As if he knew exactly that, she heard the clicking of the knobs on her air conditioner. He had lowered the temperature and then signaled his leaving of her room with padded footsteps. She heard the creaking door of the bathroom shut and the far-off noise of the high-pressure bathroom sink faucet turning on. He was washing up.

Max didn't know what to think of this, but like she had decided before—she didn't really care. What was natural, was natural, and he didn't have any bad intentions, and she didn't have any bad intentions.

She found herself persuaded into the sudden lull of sleep once again, and woke up again 40 minutes later, putting the strange thoughts with Fang out of her head and finally deciding to actually get up now.

When she trudged downstairs, she found Fang in the living room, watching tv, with his arm swung over the back of the couch casually, his eyes on the screen. His laptop was open, and sitting on the glass table in front of him. He didn't look up when she started coming down from upstairs.

She walked across the small spanse of the living room, headed towards the kitchen through the dining area, and yawned loudly.

"Morning Fang," she interjected lazily in the middle of the yawn as she walked past. He looked up from lidded eyes to watch her lazily walk across the living room. He founded his eyes running up and down her dank, lazy pajamaed body appreciatively before answering her. For a second, he couldn't believe he had been lying next to her, so _close_ to her, and a body like that. It didn't feel like it, but that probably had to do with the fact that although they lay next to and near one another, they weren't really.. embraced.

"Its afternoon now, Max," he drawled out, the side of his mouth quirking up a bit as he grinned, his eyes back to facing the television show.

Max abruptly turned around, and on her face was an awful grimace.

"Well, you're one to talk," she retorted unsavoredly before turning back.

Fang twisted his neck a bit to the side to watch her go before contemplating that sentence back over in his head.

It suddenly hit him.

...She knew he had only woken up a half an hour ago. Which meant she had been awake, and had known.. and..

and she was being virtually casual.

He felt stupid all of a sudden—for thinking she was this scheming, conniving, ridiculous, idiot. And for being such a paranoid, scared-witless idiot.

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**If this seems like its going nowhere for a moment, don't believe it.. its going into romance-angst.**

**does this seem like its going nowhere? =( I hope not..**

**Anyway, I'm posting now, cause I have alot of free time atm..**

**Next update.. probably if i get some useful feedback. ;.**


	13. It's alright as long as

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Thirteen: Alright as long as.. **

That night, Fang walked into Max's room and lay down on the bed when he peeked in and saw her hovering over her computer. She was probably been setting up the media center for a movie, so he thought it'd be the time to come in.

It wasn't really said outloud, and neither of them bothered to address it, but it was a quiet, tactiturn relationship they were starting.

Fang lay down, his head resting on his forearms raised up and crossed behind him, as he waited for her to finish.

When she turned around however, the screen wasn't flickering—it was blank. Quiet questioning was written all over his eyes as they followed her form while it walked back to the bed he was currently lying ontop of. She got underneath the covers and turned around to lay on her side, facing him, but closing her eyes resolutely.

Fang's prickling gaze on the top of her eyelids was beginning to bug her. He watched her eyebrows furrow agitatedly over closed eyes in the dark, only the moonlight seeping in from her windows alighting the darkened room. He continued to stare at her questioningly in the dark room. Suddenly, it was beginning to feel hypersensitively apparent that they were both just there, alone, in the dark, on the same bed. With no loud chattering of movie noises filling up the large, quiet, empty room, and lighting up the dark room with color, it was alot more apparent. It was just her and him, alone, in the dark, on the same bed.

"I'm sleeping," she explained pretty peevedly, eyes closed, brows still furrowed agitatedly.

"Aren't we watching a movie?" Fang offered in return, in his deep, dank voice.

"No," she stated resolutely, closing her eyes while still facing him. Fang lay beside her on the bed for a few more seconds, staring at her and watching her trying to go to sleep, as if asking her if she was really serious—if they were actually, really, not watching a movie tonight. After a few more seconds, he got up off the bed. Max pretended not to notice.

But then she heard the clicking noise of knobs on the AC. He slid beneath the covers beside her after he turned the temperature down.

Their bad sleeping habits assured the lack of any actual sleep anytime soon, but they both laid there, in the quiet darkness, anyway. They kept a good distance away from each other. It turns out that if you have nothing compelling you to stay up—such as watching a movie—sleep comes to you a lot easier, Fang noted, as he felt himself successfully grow slightly drowsy after a good two hours of just lying there. They had kept a good four feet between them for those few hours, but at that significant moment, in the middle of some almost-sleep-drowsiness on Fang's part, the AC temperature drop seemed to become apparent.

It was then, that Fang had turned around, and reached over to place his forearm over Max's waist. He couldn't recall doing this afterwards, but at that time, Max had been wide awake. The temperature drop, however, meant that his arm had been welcome. Fang had been drowsy and groggy in doing this though; it was a gesture, not tight or grounded, but simply instinctive. Max could've easily pushed it off away from her. The action had no intention, and it was lazy and sloppy. But instead, she huddled closer to him, his arm still over her own, curved ontop of her waist.

She slid forward and found sleep in his chest; it was completely natural of them.

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They would no longer watch movies. They would just go to sleep together, put the AC up and lie down far away from eachother, only to end up close to eachother as the temperature dropped. They did that deliberately, put the AC up higher and higher each day. They did that continuously.

They liked being held by eachother; they went to sleep together because they liked being held by eachother. The close intimacy they felt was only through the night, only in sleep, but still comforting. Fangs face buried in the crook of her shoulder as he spooned against her knees, felt natural to him. He did it instinctively, as he took deep, soft breaths in his sleep, pushed against her side. His eyes were closed and relaxed as he buried his nose and eyes deeper into the curve of her soft neck. His left arm was slung over her waist, his knees touching the backs of hers, while they lay on the bed resolutely quietly.

Just deep breaths and soft sighs surrounded them as they relaxed in the lull of sleep and the feeling of holding.

Everything was natural.. everything was fine with them.. they were just going with the flow. They liked going to bed together because they liked being held by eachother. Thats the way it was. They had come to learn that they both enjoyed it, so they kept doing it.

It was a narcotic obsession, but as fascinated Fang was by it, he tried never to think about it. Sadly, he failed miserably at it. He tried to push it out of his mind as instinctively as the two fell into the obsession of doing it with eachother. It was perfectly innocent, and there was nothing wrong with it, he reasoned in his mind. They liked being held by one another. Nothing lecherous was going on through his mind while he was doing it and holding her. It was just comfortable, soft, to be sleeping, lying down next to her and doing nothing else. They just liked being held by one another.

They had stopped watching movies, and just began to come down and lie next to each other on her bed. At some point, they even had stopped that preemptive lying down far away from eachother. They both knew why he came into her room late at night to do anyway.

Now he'd just walk into her room, once dressed in his pajamas and immediately get into the side of the bed closest to where she was, and just instinctively move towards her, so they could finally close their eyes. All they needed was to be held by eachother, to sleep successfully.

There was something comforting about the embrace.

They started going to bed earlier and earlier, especially considering the summer.

They would eat dinner, then migrate to the living room to watch television—cartoons—sitting on different sofas, before Max would get up and leave when she felt like it. Fang would stay in the living room, on the sofa, for 30 or 40 minutes longer than that; he'd turn off the t.v after she left because afterall, the only reason the tv had even been on was because she liked cartoons. So after she left, he'd open up his laptop and check his email or surf the web while he waited for 30 or 40 minutes. That was the amount of time he gave her, to show respect, to show blase.

It was after that completely necessary amount of waiting time, that he'd finally go up to his own room to change into his pajamas, before making his way to Max's. The lights would already be turned off, and he'd slip into the bed beside her, relaxing his arm over her hips naturally. She'd turn around in his arms to face him, put her face against his chest and snuggle into it, so they'd fall asleep together, embraced in one another, holding eachother.

That was the way things worked. They never really talked about it, and things were completely fine between them—if a bit quiet—when they were awake too. It was a narcotic habit, and it was pretty sick, Fang commended, shaking his head to himself.

This was his _sister_, he thought sometimes. How could he be do something like that to his _sister_?

It had only been a week since they had started watching movies together—it had only been a week since that first day they'd watched with Iggy that day. Only a week, yet they had already fallen into a comfortable cycle, one quiet habit, that led their sleeping habits to migrate from 4 in the morning, to 8 in the evening, lying against eachother closely. They'd go to bed early, and fall asleep with a sense of eternal relaxation.

How could he be doing something like that to his _sister_? Easy question: she didn't _feel_ like one. She felt like.. a girl.

Max didn't even realize it. It was natural to her, and she didn't really care, nor give it a second thought. She was just happy--that she was finally getting along with Fang. It eased the guilt and pain from her, for acting like such a bitch to him predominantly. She felt nicer to him, now.

Fang was.. comfortable to her. He was homely to her, and somehow, she felt completely at ease when buried in his thin, white sleeping shirt. Everything felt natural, when his large hands cupped her upper backside and his nose pressed into the bottom of her neck. Nothing was strange between them. It was a source of natural instinct, they just did it, close to each other, every night.

Nothing was needy between them, she considered in amazement. Any normal guy.. wouldn't they be freezing to get into someone's shirt in a situation like that? But it wasn't like that in Max's mind. She was amazed by Fang, and grew to like him more and more.

He was completely strong and protective of her in the nights—it was natural—and she came to realize she really did like her new half-brother. Although it wasn't exactly spoken outloud, she was happy to have him there holding her in the nights. It made her feel better, and sallow, and above all, glad that they were getting along--that he truly _didn't_ hate her completely.

She was glad to have him as brother now. He was nice and comforting. Cold and relaxed, warm and sallow and completely.. so.. natural.. She didn't have to think twice about it, or anything she did with him. He was a safe source of comfort, and he was her _brother_. _Finally_, he started actually feeling like a brother to her, and she was overjoyed about that fact. She hoped he was feeling the same way about her--finally an actual sister--one that they could get along with and stand eachother by. The self-guilt was easing away from her like honey off a licking lollipop.

She could dare say she was falling in love with the feeling of his arms, as much as she was already in love with chocolate chip cookies and her mother's cooking. She was really starting to like her new half-brother, and was really happy that he was beginning to like her too, otherwise why else would he come into her room too? He obviously liked being with her as much as she liked being with him too.

It was a narcotic addiction, but she wasn't all too aware of it. All she knew was that she was growing more and more fond of her new little brother. He was a reassuring presence, blasé, but reassuringly always there. And now, he'd be there for her. He was actually her brother now. At least, it felt that way, finally. She supposed they just needed to come to an understanding with some point, and they had finally done it.

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She smiled more often at him, he realized, as he watched her walk past him from the main living room couch, as she left out the front door to see Iggy. His eyes followed her moving form with a narrowed gaze, lifted from under his lids.

They liked sleeping together, he decided in his mind. That's why they did it everyday—that's why their bedtime grew increasingly, and increasingly earlier. They liked being held by each other. She liked being held by him. By _him_. She liked being held by _him_.

She was his sister though. Fang's eyes were led to side and were dazed as they dropped and he said that outloud: "She's my sister, though."

She was his sister, though. He just realized it in the midst of all of his thoughts.

She was his sister.. but it didn't feel like it though. He didn't feel like she was his sister, though. She didn't feel like a sister. The month and a half he had gotten to know Ella.. she had felt like a sister. He felt the need to watch over her and see what she was doing, and instinctive over protectiveness fell over him as she chattered on about random things, sitting in front of him at the dinner counter every day for a month; Ella had surely felt like a sister to him—a little, tiny-bit-annoying sister.

He wasn't really quite sure what a sister was supposed to feel like, but he knew a brother would probably feel something like what Iggy felt like to him. He'd never had a friend like Iggy in the past. In the past, in his old school, all the guys he knew, were friends with eachother solely on the terms of respect for one another.

With his guy friends at his old school, they were mostly only friends with eachother because they liked one another. They'd get smoked up together, laugh about crude, idiotic, sexual things together. They'd talk about girls together in crude ways, and laugh together while they were off getting high—that was the way he lived in his old school--it was a carefree, careless, lifestyle.

And then his parents died, and he got shipped off to here.

Iggy seemed completely different from the guys he was used to knowing. Fun and laughable, but also an intellect, with a secret inside joker. And then.. then Fang had the feeling of _caring—_if one of his friends at his old school had gotten sick and died, Fang would've felt sad and sorry for him. Afterall, he'd've been a buddy he'd smoked up with, hung out with frequently, and known on an intimate level. But.. but with Iggy.. he actually _cared; _he wanted to take away any pain of his possible. He wouldn't feel the same way for someone he was friends with in his old school—in his previous life.

He'd feel sorry and bad for the person.. but that'd be the end of it. He wouldn't want to do anything about it, but feel bad. With Iggy though.. he felt longing, and he felt pain, cause he knew Iggy had a lot of pain and longing within him—the longing to see, to longing _to have, _and to accomplish. Iggy was an ambitious guy, and he had needs and cravings like any other guy, but it felt like he was keeping himself from attaining them.. all because he felt.. inadequate.

Fang wanted to take that feeling of inadequacy away from him. He wanted to help him get up on his feet, cause Iggy was a cooler person than anyone, even if being blind. Being blind shouldn't've been stopping him from doing anything, or feeling like he couldn't do everything.

That was the difference between his old life and the starting of his new one.

Maybe it was his mother dying, maybe it was his step-father dying, Fang wasn't quite sure. But ever since coming to So-Cal, he'd been getting a lot more attuned to his emotions. He started to _care_ more.

And somehow, the feelings seemed to wrack over him all over again this time.

Why?! Why? He hated this. He hated the feeling of this—of caring too much. But even then, he reveled in the feeling with joy. He had never really felt this way before—the feeling of caring to the point of despair. Back in his old life, he'd do what he'd wanted to do, regardless of what he wanted or others wanted. Decisions were always black and white for him; it was easy, what he wanted. He'd always laugh and be amazed at people who were wracking their brains over something interiorly. What was wrong with them, he'd wonder.

And now, here he was, clouded with emotions, and feelings, and wonders.

He couldn't say he liked this life better though. But he couldn't say he liked it less. He felt like he had suddenly been missing a lot from life back in Massachussetts—busy getting high, being loaded, busy fooling around and goofing off, throwing his mansion and his money around with no care in the world.

And now here he was, in a modest home, with a soft-eyed woman who took care of her two daughters, and father who was trying his best to be the best to them, and failing.

Fang was part of his failing.

It seemed so.. suburban—it seemed so.. amateur.. and normal. Back in his old life, back when his mother and his step-father were still alive, they were very good to him. He had a great relationship with his parents—his mother loved him, his step-father pretty much adored him, and treated him like his own.

He'd go out and play a game of ball with his dad, and then they'd come back to find sandwiches and lemonade ready for them. His house had been massive, his parents had been rich and successful, he had had money to throw around, girls throwing themselves at him at school—and he'd done a few of them as well.

He hadn't ever been scared of himself, and scared of what to do.

And now, suddenly, desperately, he'd been flung into this.. _normal _life. This _amateur_, middle class, modest life. And everything seemed neat and clean, a bit messy, but nevertheless.. clean. His old life was clean too.. but it was more.. exciting--more freedom, more thrilling, more actions of taboo. And the scary thing was—he didn't seem to mind the change at all. If anything, he sort of liked it.

Playing basketball with Iggy and his new friends—normal. Making lemonade and watching dvds with his little half-sis Ella—normal. Putting up with snide comments from his bitchy old half-sister—deal-able. Everything.. was so freaking normal. It seemed.. so normal, and cliché, on some level he supposed.

It was nothing like his old life, where his friends and his groups of friends from school would come over every weekend to have a normal party at his massive huge mansion, get drunk, smoke up, while he'd be up in a room getting his hands on a girl's chests. It was nothing like before.

And somehow, he didn't miss it. This was fine; this was normal. Suburban, but normal.

It seemed that everything he did at his old school was only by influence. He hung out with people who did that sort of stuff, and so he was used to doing it too—it was simply by influence and emulation. It wasn't as if he didn't like to do it either—who _wouldn't _like smoking up and feeling a lusty girl you sit behind in science class? He did it all, cause he could.. but coming here made him realize.. that he never really _needed_ any of it. It was all stuff he took for granted and exploited because he could.

Here he was, sleeping with his half-sister for the past daily weeknights of the week, and he didn't feel the slightest urge.

That may have something to do with the fact that shes your _half-sister_, Fang reminded himself.

Max was also a pretty strange thing, he noted as well. When he had first come here, he'd expected her to be just another conceited blond, bitchy princess—the ones, he liked to fuck. He had immediately thought of how troublesome it would be to live with one and live with one being _your sister _when all of your buddies called her a slut.

He had thought she'd've been that type he'd like to exploit, but hated: all day, out partying. They way she'd walked into the kitchen dressed that morning had helped to back her case up either.

What he'd learned was something different though. She worked part-time at a yogurt-bakery shoppe to save up money for a science program she wanted to do next year.

Not only did she not dress badly, she also equivalently had nearly no social life whatsoever, he noted curiously. She was hung up over him stealing her best friend, who was interestingly, also a guy.

Max was a strange girl, and was nothing like what he thought she'd be like. She had totally suited the charicteristics of a rich bitch that first day—the way she had rolled her eyes, had flipped her hair back at him, talked back to her family and danced up the stairs, looking at him like he was a despicable insect or something. He had made up his mind that day to show him what an insect she was; he had been popular back in his old school—he could show her what type of person he was--not an insect. He'd made up his mind to show her up.

He knew how to have fun. He'd get her to hate him if he beat down every single one of her bitchy friends as well.

Somehow though, that desire faded as time went on. He went on to see that she didn't really care about him, nor what he did. He never really got to meet any of her girl friends either, if she even had any, he doubted they'd be the type of bitchy he had presumptuously thought she'd be. All she did was express the notion that _every _thing he did pissed her off. He wondered why. Curiosity grew. He tried to get along with her.

He wracked himself over decisions over this girl.

And then they had fallen asleep on the bed. And then they had, again. And it was a week since they had first fallen asleep, and now they were doing it daily.

(By sleep, Fang reminded himself rigidly, he just meant _sleep_).

And now he was wondering why. Why did he like it so much?

Maybe it was cause he didn't get any nightmares anymore. Like that time Lissa had lied to him and told him she was pregnant. It was ridiculous. He had nightmares repeating stupid, idiotic decisions he'd made in his lifetime, stupid idiotic things that've happened in his lifetime.

And then every now and then, he'd get flashes and images of his mother or stepfather, in black and white. He'd wake up breaking out in sweats and breathing bullets out of his breath. He didn't know what to do then except go to the bathroom and wash up before going back to bed again. Why he got those dreams, he'd had no clue, but onetime Dr. Martinez had been there when he'd gone to the bathroom to wash up.

It was before she'd left for her seminar, but she'd stayed up all that night, saying words to Fang all night long until he finally felt back into a fitless sleep. It was one of the most comforting things someone had ever done for him.

It was then, that he realized exactly why Max loved her mom so much, why she hated Jeb so much for ridiculous things, and in ridiculous proportions.

Yet, despite all that, he couldn't figure Max out.

She seemed like a child in many a sense—watching cartoons, lying across an armchair with a bucket of Ben & Jerry's lying on her stomach, no apparent social life to speak of, a pretty bad fashion sense—considering he was used girls with nice bodies who dressed slutty—and she was so upset and incapable of dealing with her guy friend who was turning into, well, a guy.

She was also a child in another way.. Fang cautiously began. The way she was on the bed at night.. it was so.. childish, reserved, and innocent. He'd never encountered a girl like that before.

Then again, this is your _half-sister_, Fang reminded himself for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day.

Usually girls were.. provactive.. in bed like that. But she was perfectly still and fine. As if she reveled in being held that way. Which is when Fang realized that she was as inexperienced as she was naïve and headstrong. It was okay though; Fang had no ill intentions towards her.

And the truth was, he liked lying down with her too. It felt natural, and instinctive, and nothing else but what it was—they were just there. He liked that they both liked being held by another. Thats why they kept doing it, obviously. They just liked sleeping together. It was comforting to them. It was natural.

And also, the upside was that Max was being nicer to him now. She was smiling at him frequently these days, as if she were quite happy within herself, like a personal weight had been lifted off her when she looked at him. She no longer felt awfully guilty or irritable when she threw him a glance, or when he was in the general approximate vicinity of her. She was happy and upbeat during his dinners and smiling a lot.

But all Fang could do in return, was muster a sad excuse of an uncomfortable grimace or smile in return to her.

Cause the truth is, he wasn't comfortable with this at all.

He was getting uneasy.

Why was he feeling this way about his half-sister? Why was she feeling so happy, and carefree, and uneasy?

It was obviously because she didn't see anything wrong with them. She was happy that they had been getting along. Obviously, he was happy about it too.

But.. but there was something wrong in what they were doing. Max didn't realize it though, she was just happy. She was reserved and innocent.. and it was natural to her, like it was to him.

They both liked doing it.. but she was.. she was happy because she was finally seeing him as an actual brother.

Whereas.. he was.. he was seeing her as a woman.

He was getting uneasy, and uncomfortable. But he couldn't deny the fact that he liked their relationship. So he would continue it.

It was alright as long as everything stayed like that. They just liked going to sleep together, laying there.

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Phew. I want to see how many readers I've lost.. so I'm gonna try to get up to 325 reviews for my next update.. REVIEW!


	14. The Train

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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Chapter Fourteen: The Train**

Fang didn't really care anymore.

He'd pushed it out of his mind, he decided while staring down into the toaster toasting his bread. He leaned over the counter clad in his white and dark navy striped pajamas pants and plain white t-shirt.

Behind him, a rustling and a screech indicated him of Max's presence in the kitchen, sitting on a stool behind the island. He stayed still, as Max yawned loudly and lazily, like the sun pouring in through the glass sliding doors to their left. He stayed still for a moment longer, just reveling in the peace. Things were good like this. It was nice.

It was nice just feeling her presence there behind him, all alone, still and quiet, but there.

And then the toaster buzzed loudly, breaking the silence and the still atmosphere he'd been reveling in. It brought him out of his empty thoughts as he picked them up and turned around to see Max.

Thats exactly what he hadn't wanted to do. Why? He had had no idea. He just hadn't wanted to.

He hadn't wanted to look at her.

He liked hearing her, feeling her, from a distance, from far away. He liked feeling her presence away from him, distinctly aware of it. But looking at her face to face.. it changed perspectives on things—it was different. Somehow it was too hard to place the Max he held at night—soft, vulnerable, relaxed and shivering until he rubbed her soothingly—with the Max he had sitting in front of him—tough, callused, with barriers, and boundaries. It was hard to place those two together; he knew it was true, though he wasn't quite sure why. Max had a lot of layers to her, is all he knew for now.

"I'm hungry," she yawned, again. He broke out of his quiet reverie to realize he'd been glaring at her from beneath his lids in the midst of his thoughts.

He snorted.

She plucked the bread from off the counter and was conspicuously bringing it up to her mouth daintily. He smirked as he watched her, before leaning forward into her.

"_This—" _he stated, snatching the piece of toast he'd set on the counter from her hands, "—is mine. Go make your own, you lazy bum," he replied snarkily politely. A quiet grin graced his face as he turned back around and spread jam over it. He heard Max 'humph' in the background and wondered about how childish her stupidity could even get.

In some sense it was quite adorable, in others, it was simply exasperating—take her stubbornness for example: she went and grabbed the second piece of toaste off the plate anyway. Stupid, lazy idiot, Fang couldn't help but think, shaking his head. He went back to stick another piece of bread in the toaster as Max walked away satisfactorily.

What he hadn't realized up until that moment however, was how _irritating _Max looked. She was dressed in baggy light purple pajama pants and a thin tanktop that hugged curves.

What was her problem, he screamed at himself, butchering the second piece of toast after she was gone.

Seriously, what was her _problem_?! He had _actually_ gone to sleep with her while she was wearing _that_?!?! He felt like butchering _himself_ this time.

He hadn't been aware of what she was dressed like underneath the covers. He usually kept his respectable distance from her, embracing lightly but gently, though the bare arms were a give-away sometimes. She always wore long pajama pants, from what he knew, but seriously, sensual representations one could take at a guess were _totally,_ _completely _different from visual representations. Especially visual representations.. like _that_.

Ugh, god, he couldn't believe she was wearing _that_ while having slept with him last night. He was going crazy just thinking that.

She had been curled up into a ball in his stomach, abdomen, and chest last night, his large right hand keeping her against him as she quivered slightly in the cold, rubbing her back soothingly even though his own back had been freezing too.

Why did they really bother to put the AC up that high, he wondered. It was freaking freezing last night.

For some strange, absent, unbenknownst reason, they both had found themselves outside of the covers last night anyway, lying ontop of the blankets and freezing cold. Halfway through the night, Fang had simply gotten up and stomped over around the bed to reach the AC knob and turn it all the way down. So they had gone back to sleep in a freezing state no longer, and had woken up on top the blankets again.

He had slipped in beside her late last evening around 7:30. Dinner had been at 7. He had been in a rush for some reason, and hadn't even bothered to wait those 30-40 minutes afterwards to go up to her. He had just gone up and slipped into the covers, hugging her on impact. He hadn't noticed what she was wearing, but just her presence was what he'd been aware of. That, and her soft, soft skin of her cheeks against his neck. They stayed that way for a good few minutes before they continued to casually and naturally shuffle around on the bed, trying to find a new position they liked better, suited them better, or was more comfortable.

It was something naturally done, eyes closed, shifting on impact. Everything had always been natural with them, and it'd been a week and half since they'd settled into a routine.

In the midst of all this thinking and all those thoughts, Max came back in again, fully dressed this time, and another new piece of toast hanging from her mouth and she struggled to put the two straps of a backpack on her back. Fang watched her with a presumably bored look on her face as she struggled, the piece of toast dangling from her lips agitatedly, until she finally got it on and released her hands to pick the toast up off of her mouth and finally speak.

"I'm going to Nudge's, bye," she said before turning around, having grabbed a plastic spoon full of jam as she had spoke. She left, spreading it on it.

Whose Nudge? Fang wondered a few minutes late, cocking his eyes up. He looked up to the clock high up on the wall across from him in the large, expansive kitchen. It was only 8:30. What type of normal teenager wakes up at 7:30 in the morning in the middle of summer vacation? Maybe it was the climate of California in comparison to Massachussets, but Fang doubted it. This is what you got for going to bed so early every evening. He wondered if Max was beginning to notice it too—their earlier and earlier sleeping routines, as if all they did all day was just wait to go to bed.

Cause really, the truth was, they _got along _well with each other outside (finally), but they actually just enjoyed the night times. There was a difference. Before, they didn't get along—they damn near hated each other. Then they began to be able to tolerate one another. And now, they got along. There was a difference. They didn't strive or crave to be with one another. They just got along. They _liked _being with each other at the nighttime, though. Getting along in a situation and _liking_ a situation were two completely different things. He didn't _like_ being with her face-to-face all the time; they simply just got along. At night it was different, though.

There was a difference, Fang reminded himself thoughtfully, taking a bite out of his toast, leaning over the counter while on his bare feet over the cool, pacific tiles of the kitchen floor. Just then, the sliding door slid open, and Fang turned his head to the right to see who had just come in. No surprise, it was Iggy.

"Hey man," Iggy commented, supposedly a natural thing to come in through the kitchen, "can't believe you're actually up at this late hour," he commented with a big grin.

Fang quirked his eyes, lost on Iggy, but nevertheless. Iggy was always an early riser.

"Hey man, 'sup?" Fang responded in retaliation, a rigorous shake of his head, shaking off the last comment of his.

"Nothing, you wanna hang out today?" he asked him.

"Sure, got nothing else to do," Fang replied with a shrug, throwing the last piece of jammed toasted into his mouth with a chomp. Fang chewed and swallowed as Iggy came in and began to walk to the exit that led to the dining hall, to go up to his room through the living room to change. Iggy followed him through the dining room to the living room, twisting his neck this way and that as if looking for something—which he couldn't, of course. As he followed Fang up, his voice asked, "Hey where's Max?"

Fang rolled his eyes—how expected of him—treat the girl like shit, and then wallow over her every two or three seconds or so. It was really annoying to be this guy's friend, but he put up with it.

"She left to this girl Nudge's house, whoever she is," Fang replied, with measured exasperation.

The guy was absolutely obsessed with her and she had no idea. She was too busy wallowing over the fact that he was too busy to hang out with her, for more _guyish_ friends, who were in fact, real guys. He rolled his eyes at the thought. Those two had _communication _issues. He wondered how the hell they ever got along with eachother when they were younger.

Throwing a shirt over his head, he found the answer simply: she was bossy, commanding and control, while he was carefree, joking, and downright silly. He didn't care about her commanding controlingness—presumably ignoring it all the time, only agitating her further—and she just put up with his jokes and carelessness. Thats how they got along.

They'd make a pretty good couple, he commended, nodding his head a bit as he did up the button on his pants, and then he wondered why he was even bothering to think thoughts like that.

Shouldn't brothers be overly overprotective of their sisters? he asked himself, wracking his head quietly with the question.

Why am I suggesting Iggy go out with her then?

Because you think Iggy is a good guy, and guys want things like that for their sister, because they've got better judgment, a little voice in the back of his head said.

"Oh," he said outloud, nodding his head quietly in agreeance. It made sense.

He opened back the door of his miniscule room once he was done changing into clothes—despite that Iggy was blind—and saw him leaning against the corridor wall, seeming to be thinking hard.

"Hey, let's go to Nudge's," Iggy proposed wondorously, as if the epiphany had just spontaneously struck him; the most genius thing to ever hit the world.

Fang stared at him.

"No."

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"Oh, come on Fang," Iggy whined after him as he followed Fang out on the sidewalk outside.

Fang kept walking carelessly along the freshly trimmed sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, with his head up in the sky.

"Why?" Fang repeated, humoring Iggy for a second. Igs still wanted to go to Nudge's house—whoever that girl was. Her name was as weird as his, and Fang wondered if it was a nickname, like his predominantly had been.

"Because—"

"Because why?" Fang countered, hands still in his pockets, eyes closed, as he strolled along the sidewalk of a fine summer's day, Iggy trailing pleadingly along behind him.

"Because, because, Nudge is a really cool person," Iggy stressed, nearly as if it would convince him.

Fang snorted without missing a beat. Yeah, right, that was the reason he wanted to go. Cause Nudge was a really, really cool person. Okay, sure.

"If you wanna go stalk Max, do it without me," Fang carelessly suggested, his head still in the sky, "I see enough of her everyday," he replied honestly.

He was perfectly fine spending allday like this—doing nothing but strolling in the nice, warm, cool sun. It was nice, and pleasurable, and relaxing. But Iggy continued to stalk him.

With a large exasperated, drawn-out sigh, Fang turned around agitatedly. His shoulders were up in annoyance, his eyes still closed, when he faced Iggy. Iggy's face on the other hand, brightened up quickly and enthusiastically, somewhat like a cartoon character's, dark aviator sunglasses still adorned on his face. Iggy's smile grew big and large as Fang's eyebrows twitched just staring at it transform bigger and larger by the semi-second.

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer and turned back around, his shoulder still up to his ears in annoyance. He was a touchy person to get along with, yet Iggy had already built up a tolerance and gotten used to him—the new kid on the block with the short-temper, low tolerance attitude, ill-intentions.

With a bright smile on his face now, Iggy continued to follow him.

"You want to see Max, just see her then," Fang said after a second of waiting, feeling him still following him behind him. He closed his eyes and stopped, relaxing himself and feeling himself into a zen state as he spoke.

"So you like her, but she thinks you hate her, and don't give a shit," he said, opening his eyes now to throw him a glance and see what was up with him.

He had resisted against the urge to say, "you want to see my sister, then," and then later on wondered why in the world he'd ever have to resist against saying something like that. It was the first time _ever_ that he'd casually even _thought_ of casually referring to Max as a sister. It was pretty astounding, but maybe it was because he was dealing with a prospective boyfriend of hers now. Maybe.

But he couldn't say he didn't like it. It felt sort of comforting, somehow, strangely, to be able to think, "My sister" about her.

It was weird.

But somehow, it put his heart to ease. Somehow. He wasn't sure how it did it, or why it felt that way, but it felt okay. He paused to revel inside it, but continued anyway, ignoring the small little interlude of feeling that had intersected his thoughts in the middle of the discussion.

"So you want to get with Max—don't lie—its totally true—I know it—" Fang admonished, cutting off Iggy's protests with an eyebrow furrow, "So you want to get with Max," he continued, continuing to resist the urge to refer to her as 'my sister.' This was a guy-to-guy talk, referring to her as 'my sister' might scare him off, especially if he was trying to him up with his.. 'sister'.

His sister. _Man, _that sounded weird. But it felt good, Fang was reminded. It _really _did _feel _good.

"Why don't you just go up to her and start talking then, instead of hanging around and pissing her off all the time?" he suggested in throw of common-sense.

Afterall, that was what had been bugging her, wasn't it? Half the reason she hated Fang in the beginning was because Iggy had always been pointedly hanging around him and _not_ hanging around with her. Iggy had just been taking the safer side though; by hanging around Fang, he had been _close _to Max—like he wanted—but not clingy. Nothing to give away that he was obsessed about her.

It made sense in Fang's mind too, but unfortunately, guys' thoughts were never the actual ways to deal with girls. He knew it—learned it—from experience.

"So just go up and talk to her. She just wants things to go back to normal, the way it was before, but you're not helping that," Fang continued wisely, feeling quite like a guru. And then he decided to input something in that he wasn't entirely sure was true, but it couldn't help to hurt:

"Besides, she really likes you."

That last comment had gotten Iggy jumping to his feet in astonishment. They'd been sitting on the sidewalk, feet over the pavement on which the cars traveled, and Fang opened his eyes to look at him once he had gotten up.

"Wait, _what _did you just say?" Iggy repeated sallowly, his face utterly serious, and seemingly drained pale. Fang was sure that if he could see Iggy's eyes, if they weren't covered by dark aviator glasses, they'd be wide-open, impatient, and quivering in painstaking curiousity. He was sure that if Iggy were a bit more violent, he'd be shaking Fang by the shirt neck by any second now.

Fang boredly stared up at him, swallowed casually, and then blinked once or twice, looking around at their setting and the scenery a bit before answering him.

"I think she likes you now anyway, so relax," he said. It was sorta true, now that he actually thought about it.

Would any _normal _girl get really all that pissed about a guy-friend thats ventured off a lot by a little bit? No, not really. But if Max had a crush on Iggy.. then her sensitive behavior would be a token give-off for the way she's been acting about him: upset, angsty, angry all the time, and moreover, _upset._

It made sense, he realized, if she had a crush on him, to be all the more upset when he would stop talking to her.

Ah. It all made sense to him now. The epiphany came through to him with what was supposed to be a white lie. The wonderments that lay in his brain.

Iggy was still gaping, however. Fang shrugged, now that he knew it was true, he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty for telling him that. Though, either way, he wouldn't've felt guilty anyway. White lies were white lies, who cares?

Iggy relaxed, and then Fang leaned back to lay his back on the pavement now, still looking up at the sky with his eyes closed, the sun bathing him comfortably. Sun in california feels good, he half-coherently noted. If he were back in Massachussets this time, there'd be a massively large pool party going on at his house, in celebration for the new coming school year.

Juniors—that was sure a big step. He absentmindedly began to wonder what school was going to be like here, in this area. He wondered where Max would fit in, in the social atmosphere. His school in MA had been pretty small, and the cliques and social groups had been pretty apparent, but he wasn't sure about this school's neighborhood. He had even forgotten the name.

Regardless, he'd probly hang out with Iggy and his friends; they seemed pretty relaxed.

Meanwhile, Iggy had still been gaping, while Fang was deep in his thoughts and wonderings. Fang raised an eyelid to assess him warily.

He was now less in a state of shock, and now more in a state of either deep groveling or deep thinking. Either way, Igs was now bent over the cement, hand on his chin, thinking deep and hard about something. Fang closed his eyes back again and lay back down, giving his friend time to think about whatever he was planning to do.

He got the train running, now all there was left to do was watch it go.

He was a being a good brother..

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A/N

THANKS A BUNCH!

I really didn't expect more than 30 reviews.. I didn't even expect 25..

If i could get 30 reviews for _every_ chapter, i'd be the happiest author ever :)

What do you guys think of this story so far? Thoughts on this chapter? Feelings? Disgust? Praise? ;DD


	15. Intuitive Ella

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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**  
Chapter Fifteen: Intuitive Ella**

The side of Fang's arm raised in elevation as Max took a deep breath in her sleep, his hand spread across the hip farther away from him.

She took another deep breath and then turned away from him, laying on her side with her hands resting underneath her cheeks on the side of her pillow. Fang's body instinctively followed hers to spoon. His head was bent down low and he was hunched over behind her, laying on his side, his nose pressing into the back of her neck as she slept with deep breaths and soft sighs in the middle of his restless night.

Fang couldn't fall asleep. He was left in this strange, zen state, where he moved instinctively with Max, but on some level was still awake.

Max turned around in his arms to face him and his chest now. Pressing face deep into his shirt, Fang pulled his arms back a little to look down at her and observe her snuggling into his chest. He looked down with a mixed look of interest and curiosity, some a little bit of revelation on the inside.

He watched her keenly with apathetic, blank eyes, but still keenly. He watched the rise and fall of his own chest that Max was clinging to the t-shirt of onto, 3/4s of her blank, angelic face visible to him.

Hah, he thought, angelic? Never in a million years. She was a downright beast. Looks could sure be decieving. And as his thoughts staved off on tangents, he asked himself what Iggy could possibly see in her. He mentally shrugged though—it wasn't _his_ problem.

He slowly found himself drifting off to sleep.

He woke up the next morning with Max's arm laying flat on his chest, turned to the side while he was laying flat on his back. When the sunlight hit his eyes he opened his eyes unwillingly, growling. He was still sleepy.

It was already noon, but considering he hadn't gone to sleep until 3 AM despite meeting Max at 7:30, he still didn't feel like getting up yet.

He was pretty sure Max didn't have any plans today, so he resolutely closed his eyes and blindly got up and walked over to shut the drapes. The room was filled with a lavender tint, still dark. He wanted to make sure Max wouldn't get up yet; she had fallen right to sleep once they had gone to bed, but he still wanted her company and knowing her, she could sleep 20 hours straight if she wanted to. He didnt have to worry about her waking up as long as the drapes were shut.

He fell back down on her bed tiredly. Leaning over a bit and gathering her shoulders back, he fell back asleep, this time with sunlit drapes clouding the room, making sure it stayed dark.

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Ella, wearing thick camping gear—decked out in full tan-colored vests, cargos, and hats, relieved herself of a deep sigh as she reached home. She collapsed on the sofa in the small living room after throwing her five or six bags to the side, to the tv adjacent to it.

The bus had _just_ dropped her off at the end of her block and although being dead-tired, she was so superlatively excited to see her mom, and dad, and max and fang, and tell everyone of the finer details of her absolutely thrilling camping trip which she couldn't give justice to on paper.

Her eyes were sparkling at the thought—just telling them about all her stories, reenactments, all the fun she had had!

But strangely, looking around, she couldn't see anyone. There wasn't a sound in sight. She frowned curiously, feeling a bit upset. Where was mom? Jeb should be at work right now, but this was a saturday—mom's day off.

Hmm. And Max; Ella wondered where Max was. Clearly, she had gotten fired from her job for sleeping in too late too often, but—oh--she was probably _still_ sleeping. No surprise, although it was already 1:30. She laughed a bit to herself about her sister's antics but then made up her mind to go wake up her up.

Hm.. maybe Fang was out playing with his friends now? Or something? She went into the kitchen, still decked out in gear, to check it out and see if he was there. Oh well—it was empty, she concluded, coming back into the living room.

If Fang was still sleeping, she didn't want to wake him up. Sure he was nice and Ella really, really, really liked him _a lot_, she wasn't quite sure if she could totally break the boundaries of stranger-to-stranger and brother-to-sister so easily. It was working quite well, she presumed, though she still wasn't sure of his finer habits—such as how pissed he would be if she were to wake him up.

Cause despite how nice and brotherly he was to her, she had to admit.. he was still a pretty creepy, scary, intimidating guy..

Ah well, she thought in resolution, climbing up her stairs for the first time in three weeks, things would definitely get better with time—especially since Fang seemed like such an amiable guy.

Halfway up the stairs to the second floor, the horrible realization finally struck Ella.

She wondered how _horribly_ they must've gotten along these three weeks, without having Ella there to mediate between them. She closed her eyes in feeling personal failure and dissapointment in herself, and groaned. She couldn't even imagine how much they must've done to eachother by now—Max could get pretty damn violent when she wanted to, and it seemed that she literally practically _hated_ Fang's guts for some unbeknownst reason.

What the heck had they done for these three weeks, especially the first two—when her Mom had been on her veterinary seminar? The thought made Ella's stomach churn, as if she was physically responsible for any damage inflicted into the house.

Taking a few steps back on the stairs, she bent down to assess the living room from the steps once again. It seemed fine and epically undamaged. Maybe they decided to battle it out in the backyard or garden then, Ella hypothesize, frowning largely.

She didn't even get why her sister and her new half-brother didn't even get along—why they hated eachother so much.

Correction, Ella reminded herself: It was probably just Max who hated him so much, and brought out the anger on him so much. Afterall, knowing Max, (and she had, for 14 full years of her life), she had probably unleashed all her rage and anger of hers towards him. And from what she knew thus far of Fang's personality, he probably stayed amiable towards those who got along with him. Max, unfortunately, was being an antagonist.

Afterall, Ella was perfectly nice to him, and he was more than nice enough. Max.. on the other hand.. probably just threw him disgusted looks and a glare at first. Fang's personality-typed probably wouldn't've been able to stand that.

Thus, the clash began. Ella figured it out all in her head exasperatedly and upsettedly.

Her sister and half-brother were actually pretty alike--at least in terms of how they dealed with eachother's anger; the resemblance, even, was _not _uncanny.

She wondered if they had even half-killed themselves without her, dealing with themselves and staying in the house without mom. Max only got along when Mom was there. Ella could do well enough to break up the fights, but Max only truly really behaved around Mom.

Then again, she commended, it probably would've been worse if it were Jeb and Max just home alone for two weeks without her mom.. Fang would be a useful mediator.

No, who was she kidding? Fang would just be an epic catalyst for Max to bring it all out on Jeb even more.

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. Why did half of her family members have to be so.. so.. so like _this_? Agh.

Sighing, she stared at Max's bedroom door, debating on whether or not to open it yet and wake her up, alerting her of her presence and arrival.

It was really a shame, she thought miserably, walking into the bathroom parallel to Max's bedroom. She had come home in high hopes and excitement, thrilled to be able to tell the stories she was looking forward to.. and instead just found herself depressed and dreading meeting her family members.

Who knew what havoc they wreaked in her absence?

Her mom and she were the eternal mediators of the family—interestingly enough, the only people who tended to cause trouble there were Max vs Jeb. But now it was Fang vs Max too. Ella felt like crying in despair. She liked Fang so much, and Fang was probably hating Max. It made her want to cry, cause she really liked Max too. She had really wanted a big brother like Fang—someone who seemed dependable and strong-willed, and fun—and now Max wasn't getting along with him at all.

It was amazing how all these thoughts seem to strung back into her head once she finally got home. These thoughts didnt bother her at all while she was away for camp, and honestly, the headaches just came back as she got home.

So Ella took a shower, changed and then went back into her lavender-colored room, falling into bed on impact. She was dead-tired—all of her camp friends had stayed up all night and on the bus before leaving on their last day. She didn't want to think about this yet; she didn't want to deal with this just yet, she was too tired right now.

Ella found herself sleeping away the worries biting at her head and she woke up 7 hours later at around 9 at night.

She woke up yawning and immediately regretting her 'little' nap, which turned out not to be so little anyway. School would be starting in two weeks and her sleeping habits were already getting pretty messed up—too much and too hard to be able to change.

She stomped downstairs, expecting to see Max hanging out in the living room or something.

But instead, what she found surprised her: Nothing. The house was still quiet and empty, like when she had gotten here in the afternoon. However, on the otherhand, it didn't look quite as untouched anymore. It was obvious that someone had been here while she had been asleep, but it was obvious.. in strange ways.

Curiously looking around, she walked past the living room into the dining room—which seemed to be a more commonly used place now. Sitting on the table was a pot of stew and some covered over lasagna that hadn't been completely finished—just a little bit remained on the large industrial-sized pan.

Hmm, she wondered, maybe Iggy had come over to make dinner? Afterall, Max sure as heck couldn't cook. And her dad sure as heck wouldn't've _wanted _to cook. Who had made dinner?

She sat down at the table in front of the mostly-empty pan and took a fork lying there and began to eat, taking up a piece and sticking it in her mouth.

It definitely didn't take like Iggy's. Iggy's food had distinct tastes to it always—there was always flamboyance and flare, and fervor. The dishes were always extravagant, whereas this one was.. more simple. Like it held the bare necessities and nothing more, cause all you needed it for was eating. It was weird.. Maybe Fang had made it?

She didn't know Fang could cook. Her admiration for her new older brother was growing higher and higher in esteem by the second, the more she got to know him. All of her friends at camp had all praised the funny saying and puns he would include in postcards back to her. She hadn't known he could be so funny and such an intellect as a writer until she had read the amusing responses he would write back to her—his jokes were sort of flimsy, held a sort of a flair of nonchallance, but somehow his eccentrical wit and dry lack of humour made it all the more comical. He was certainly a unique person, but definitely an interesting older brother to have, especially since he barely knew her as a sister, yet was still so caring. As if he had adopted her immediately after getting to know her for barely a week.

If only he could be that way around Max, she pondered sadly, finishing up the delicious lasagna. If only Max could just _be_ so compliable, she finished, picking up the empty pan and setting it inside the dishwasher.

She set the dishwasher on and then turned around, beginning to _actually _wonder where Fang and Max were now. And Jeb, for that matter.

From the looks of lasagna, that had been dinner. But would Fang really bother to make dinner for Max, especially considering the bitch-tastic way Max would treat him? Much less, would Max even bother to eat food made by him? Then again.. she really _did_ love food..

And how in the world would Fang have been able to finish all that, the huge pan of lasagna, nearly by himself?

She walked back upstairs curiously. Maybe Max was in her room by now. She hadn't been in the basement or the first floor, and considering it was summertime, she definitely wouldn't be asleep by 10:30. Maybe she was over at Igs' or just hanging out in her room.

Ella opened the door to Max's room, wondering if Max even knew she was home yet, but when she entered the room, she didn't expect it to be dark—pitch black.

Ella's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Max wasn't home? Maybe she was at Iggy's then. She opened the door a little bit wider to look further in, to see clear moonlight seeping in through the large two windows of Max's room, right onto her bed—

—where Max was actually lying to the side, looking peacefully asleep.. where Fang was laying, clutching her to him, his eyes closed just as peacefully.

Ella recoiled in the shock and the image hit her eyes dramatically. Her eyes widened and she looked in further, but nothing changed in front of her.

Fang's arms were around and over her hips below her. He was lying close beside her, behind her, both on their sides, facing the moonlight and the window. The light was hitting them right on their faces. The quilts were down to their waists.

And then suddenly, Max moved. Ella recoiled in shock and almost gasped, before she covered her mouth with two hands as she watched them, still standing in the doorway.

Max moved and turned around in Fang's arms to face the other side, and him. Fang moved from his side to lie flat on his back now. His left arm had spread out so that Max's head could lie on it, and Max turned around so that her back was facing the moonlit-streaming windows now. She then lifted her leg and bent her knee up on him so that the bottom portion of her left side lay on him and her left hand clutched his shirt.

Ella couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Her brother and sister were sleeping together.. so intimately?

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**Ooh.. trouble?**

**Please review.. Im confused. I get 32 reviews on one chapter and then 10 on another :( Do you guys not like it anymore?  
**

**AM I LOSING READERS?! AHHHHH.. :( **

**Next update on.. when I feel like i still have readers :(  
**


	16. All Around Confused

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

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**  
Chapter Sixteen: All Around Confused  
**

Ella walked down the stairs jarringly, her hand holding onto the railing tightly as she took each hesitant, yet hurried step down.

What had she just seen? The image was running through her mind in epic proportions, over and over and over again.

Max.. and Fang.. were _hugging _each other_.. _on the same bed..

His face had been buried into her neck. Her head had been on his chest. Her breasts had been on his neck. He was hugging her.. _to_ him.

What had she just seen?

Two weeks at camp and _this _is what became of their relationship?

They had begun _seeing_ each other?

No. That was _wrong. _

Sleeping together on the same bed was _beyond_ just _seeing_ eachother, it was.. it was... No. It was gross.

_No. _They were siblings.

Ella let out a rare curse in sheer, utter shock. She never cursed, but right now, her brain was seriously going hype on overload.

So she did what any confused kid would do on overload—push it out of her mind for another time to think about. She was going to go back to bed now—_force_ herself to fall asleep, and she'd wake up and see if she could forget it all.

The image that she'd just seen had just revolted her. They were _brother and sister_ for gods' sake, and _Ella_ was _both _their sister _too. _God. What was Max _thinking?_

..maybe her new step-brother Fang, wasn't such a good guy afterall.. Maybe all her thoughts about him had been wrong.. Right now, at the moment, he was _disgusting _to her. No matter what, she'd always take her sister' Max's side. Because as much as she simply adored Fang, the truth of the matter was that she'd only known him for a few months—something that was becoming increasingly more and more clear to her by the second. She'd always take Max's side no matter what.

She doubletracked in her mind and went back—what did she _really _know about Fang? What if he was some kind of pervert? Some type of guy that forces girls into doing "stuff"? Even _if _it were his sister? What kind of guy _was _he? And Max was so naïve..

Had Ella been wrong in just naturally assuming he was a good guy just cause he was her new brother? Honestly, the thought of her brother being bad—even when she hadn't met him—hadn't even crossed her mind. For the first time now, it finally was. It was always: obviously no brother of hers would be bad?

But now, really.. what kind of guy _was_ he? Was he hitting on Max? Was that the real reason that Max had hated him at the beginning? No, that couldn't be it—she had said he was a fag, and he had disliked her too back then.

Then how had this come to.. to _this_?

How did they.. how did they _like_ each other?!

She was so confused, and partly scared, after being revolted. She wondered what the issue was with them..

There was a lot she needed to figure out.. but for now, she needed to go to sleep.

Ella woke up the next morning with a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of her throat which shouldn't really have been there.

She hadn't expected coming home to be this stressful.

She didn't know where or what Mom was doing, Jeb had probably already left for work, and she heard the sound of talking coming from downstairs as she sat up in her bed wearily, and her stomach dropped again. Dear god. Did she really want to go near.. them?

Yes. She did. If only to find out what was actually between them. Maybe what she saw wasn't really true, a small part of her begged. The thought was desperate, and she was pleading for it to be true, but she wasn't quite sure. But the evidence was undeniable.. She needed to find out. Maybe she had just misunderstood? She took a quiet gulp, and her face took on a stoic form which it had hardly ever taken on before.

She came down the stairs with dull padded steps, silent and upsoken, a stark contrast to the enthusiastic bounding of the steps last morning, when she had first come home. Clad in her pajamas, she reached the bottom steps and the living room, walking across the small expanse of it to go through the dining hall slowly, and towards the kitchen. That was where the sound was coming from.

God.. where the heck was Mom? This was already the second day since she'd been back. She wanted to see her mom.. _now_.

She found Max sitting at the counter ontop of a high stool, eating some fried eggs off a small plate. Fang was facing her, leaning back across the counter, standing against the sink, while he was talking about something with Max. The conversation sounded harmless instead of antagonistic, but Ella suddenly realized that that was not what she was worried about—why would she still be relieved that they were getting along?

Ella watched at the situation quietly, standing at the doorway, not saying a word, but her footsteps had alerted them of her presence.

Max turned her head at the sound, flipping her straight, mid-length blonde-streaked brown hair over her shoulder and blinked. The fork clambered out of her hands as Max opened her eyes wider at Ella and there was a an enthusiastic shriek as Max threw herself off the stool and at her sister.

"Oh my gosh! When did you get back? How was camp?" she gushed, "Tell us everything!!" she bombarded enthusiastically, hugging her painfully tightly and dearly.

Ella appreciated it. She knew Max was going the extra mile to be enthusiastic, as she normally wasn't so gushy, but was doing it for the sake of fulfilling the role of the big sister.

Ella hesitated for a moment. All of the previous disgust and amnesty slipped out of her face as Max continued fussing over her and asking her questions enthusiastically.

She looked over Max's shoulder to Fang, still leaning back against the sink counter. He threw Ella a casual, playful, smirk which was possibly the most genuine thing she'd seen from him since he'd come here.

However, Ella didn't throw one back. She simply stood there, hesitantly hugging Max back, as she gave Fang an emotionless look, stoic, expressionless eyes thrown at him.

Fang was probably surprised by the hostile, unwelcoming expression, but it didn't betray his exterior. He raised one hand up across the large spanse of kitchen from which Max and Ella were standing by the doorway, and threw her a greeting anyway.

Ella still didn't respond to that, just quietly looking at him calculatedly. She didn't smile, she didn't do anything, but let herself continue being hugged by Max.

Max finally let go of her and then ushered her over to another stool beside the one she had been sitting at.

And then she barked at Fang to go make something for Ella.

That, in itself, wierded Ella out. Max was treating him so casually, and he just shrugged and turned around to face the frying pan on the stove, and got to work. He _listened_ to her.

He was listening; he didn't care that Max had _barked_ at him; and he was _doing_ what she was telling him to do. He didn't _care_.

It was completely normal. And casual.

What kind of relationship _was_ this? Max wasn't overly polite. Fang wasn't overly uptight.

Things weren't supposed to work this way. They hadn't worked this way before.

For a second, Ella's face contorted in disgust, slight revulsion gracing the features of her face as she stared at Fang's strong, lean back, as he flipped an egg for them.

Beside her, Max was still gushing and asking her questions, though Ella had not yet said a word to her.

Slowly, her head turned to Max, and she threw her a genuine smile, which, for some reason, was painful to get out. Perhaps it was because she was half preoccupied with peripherally glaring at Fang's back for reasons unbeknownst to him.

Her smile at Max was genuine though. She loved her sister genuinelly, and nothing would ever change that.

Although.. her relationship with her—their—half-brother.. thats why it was troubling Ella so much. How could she really still love Max for something,_ any_thing like _that_? What the freak?

What was she supposed to do? She couldn't stop loving Max.. but Max.. couldn't be.. _seeing_ their _half-_brother.

He was their _half-brother_ for gods' sake. Their freaking _BROTHER. Flesh and _blood.

Ella nodded a bit hesitantly and then jarringly retold some of what had happened at camp. At some point, Fang had come to the other side of the counter and placed a plate of neatly scrambled eggs in front of her with a smile. He leaned over the counter from the other side to listen into Ella's retellings, his elbows propping his torso forward on the counter, the long sleeves of his black thermal top were folded up to up above his elbows, exposing slightly muscled forearms.

However, Ella felt slightly revolted of his presence there by the side of her.

She didn't cast him a single glance and ignored the plate of eggs.

Fang and Max exchanged glances over the counter.

And then, suddenly, a tall, lithe, stalky figure walked in—fading red-blonde hair mussed ontop of his head and over his forehead, glazed-over startlingly stark blue eyes clouding over his face. He was definitely a sight to see, but ironically blind.

Ella then exclaimed loudly, jumping up over from her seat to hug Iggy.

"Oomph—" Iggy exclaimed loudly at the impact, obviously not having expected it.

"At first, I thought geez, Fang, I didn't know you loved me _that_ much, but man, Ella its great to see you!" Iggy exclaimed enthusiastically.

Retracting herself from the hug, Ella looked up to Iggy's handsome face and cheeky grin to give him a skeptical look with a hint of a threatening smile—something she hadn't yet shown to either Max nor Fang. She stuck out her tongue to him and them hugged him again, tightly.

Ella felt overjoyed to finally see someone who wasn't giving her any trouble, and grasped onto Iggy tightly, much to the surprise of both Max and him.

Fang just watched apathetically, not really very sure of how close Iggy and Ella were, but wondering why Ella had been _so_ cold in comparison to Max and him.

Wouldn't she be more happy to see her sister than to see her next-door neighbor?

Max gave Fang a strange look, one he didn't quite know how to comprehend. But he felt safe to assume that Ella _wouldn't_ normally have been so nice to Iggy like this.

Suddenly, a thought struck Ella and turned back around to face Max and Fang almost threateningly, a stark contrast to her natural demure behavior.

"Where's mom?" she all but demanded, but somehow, there was a small, quivering of vulnerability in that sentence. There was almost damn near _fear_, as if she was begging to know the answer. But the looks she was giving the two of them.. wasn't normal. It wasn't pleading, and it wasn't begging. It was threatening.

And Iggy had sensed the stark changed in Ella's mood once she had faced them from him. He threw a questioning look in Max's direction, over Ella's back, but Max just shrugged wonderously, staring at him.

Fang was still just looking at them all, hanging over on the other side of the counter, silently wondering if Ella had spontaneously began PMSing during her time away from camp.

Which made him wonder—perhaps Max _transformed_ into the aggressive being she was today—what if someday, she had just been as nice and sweet and completely angelic as Ella had been?

This family was freaking him out.

"Her seminar got extended for another two weeks, so she's coming back on Monday," Max replied. When she saw her troubled face, confusedly she added, "Don't worry, its just like four days."

Ella stared at her, her face unmoving, as if measuring Max out in her head, and then said, "I'm going to my friend's house," turning around, "bye."

"Wait," Max called out after her, "Which one's?"

"Mike's," she called out after a second, already having reached the living room, having disappeared.

Max stared at the empty space where Ella had disappeared, her brows furrowing.

"What was that about?" Iggy commented.

"Yeah. What was that about?" Fang repeated, turning to Max.

Iggy took a seat on a stool beside her, and they waited for an answer, but Max just kept frowning.

"I dunno," she replied, "maybe she's just stressed about high school next week," she said after a second.

"Oh yeah," Iggy said, "I forgot she's gonna be a freshman this year."

Fang back and forth between the two of them as they discussed something having to do with the lockers at their school, and whoever got busted sneaking in and grafitting something over the summer.

"When does school start?" Fang repeated quietly, his eyes fresh and clear as he looked them in the eyes, expecting, yet dreading the annoying answer.

"Next thursday I think," Max replied absentmindedly as she listened to Iggy rant about the seniors' plan for freshman friday. She frowned abysmally.

"Why d'you even hang out with those guys, Iggy?" Max asked exasperatedly, rubbing her forehead and closing her eyes over the countertop.

"Haha—I don't really hang out with them—they just _know _me," Iggy replied with a grin.

"It seems like _everybody_ just _knows _you," Max growled out.

"Wait," Fang's voice broke them out of their reverie. Max looked at him expectedly, while Iggy kept grinning at her.

"Its _August,_" he replied, looking at them crazily.

"..SooOOooO?" Iggy replied, turning away from Max and giving him an equally crazy look. Fang returned it with another skeptical one. He was serious.

"Why does school start in _August_?" Fang repeated through gritted teeth, punctuating his words carefully.

Stupid freaking _california._

"Why? When does school start in Massachussets?" Max asked curiously.

"_Mid-september_." Fang replied darkly, turning away to scoop out the eggs Ella hadn't touched off her plate, and place it in the sink. He seriously hadn't expected this.

He'd been enjoying summer. Sleeping in, hanging out with Iggy and his friends—playing basketball in a neighborhood he knew nothing about. And now he had to start up with _that_ again?

Shallow guys and shallow girls, obnoxious guys and whorish sluts. The social climbers, the try-hards, the wannabes, the potheads, the shoot-ups, the varsity competitions, the schoolwork, the stress, the social life.

_He didn't want a social life_.

He'd had enough of it back in his old high school. He was sick of it. Coming to this stupid old suburb of LA had really put things into perspective. Meeting Iggy and Max—completely different from his old life. And frankly, he felt that it was only because he had met them and gotten to know them.

He knew what type of guy he was. He knew where he'd fit in at school—at least the _old _him. That was the problem. These kids—Max and Iggy—were _nothing_ like him. They were nothing like what he _would _be. And.. and they knew nothing about what he was _like_. They were fine seeing him the way he was now—which was actually nothing of him—but he liked it better. He liked living this life, secluded and worried in his own world about himself.

They seemed simple. He wanted to live with them.

He didn't want to go back to.. to _high school. _

"Uh.. Max?" Iggy's voice suddenly broke him out of his thoughts. Max looked at Iggy questioningly.

"Uh.. you wanna see something up in my room?" Max threw him a questioning look before quirking an eyebrow.

"Uh.. sure?" she replied awkwardly, wondering why his sentence was so vague.

Realizing how strange his request had been, Iggy immediately ammended it: "I mean.. I just finished something. Its pretty cool," he said, realization then dawning on Max's face. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, while Fang looked up.

"Oh cool. You finished it?" Fang asked, drying a plate.

"No," Iggy replied, "something else," he said, suddenly throwing Fang a small smirk and wide eyes.

Max shrugged carelessly at the random exchange and got up, padding over to her feet in her large bunny slipper and intending to walk straight into Iggy's house dressed in such a way.

Fang was confused as she watched her go, Iggy running to catch up with her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Pst. First off: To those of you who read Let Me Help You, the spin-off, It Never Happened, has a new story up!!  
**

Hi. So to those of you who like this story and are wondering what the plot is.. and why i'm up to 16 chapters without making it clear..

well it will get clear..very very very very very soon. as in, like, the next chapter.

buut, you need to review to get there!

and also, i warned you guys before. this story is going to be long because its going to be realistic.

its going to be a romance, and above all, an incestuous romance. i dont want to make it seem too trashy or whatnot, so im making it realistic.

and love doesnt happen in a flip of a book page or a click of a screen. its gonna happen gradually. so thats why this is so long. i'm trying to incorporate with also making a cohesive plot. sorry if this is getting on your nerves :(

oh and iggy is gonna be a major catalyst in this story. Ella.. she'll just be there. not neccesarily catalystic. please review :)


	17. Nervous

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

* * *

**  
Chapter Seventeen: Nervous**

Fang slid into Max's pillow behind her, slinking his arm to her front and locking it over her waist before closing his eyes. His deep breathing soon steadied as he found himself slowly falling asleep as he peripherally noticed Max pull his right hand up from around her abs towards her own face.

Lazily opening his eyes in the dark for a minute, he wondered why she was holding his hand, propping himself up on an elbow for a second to assess Max looking at the lines on his palm carefully. Was she trying to see his fortune? He plopped himself back down on the bed beside her, his arm still in her hands as she carefully observed it, before sliding his other arm into the curve below her neck. He lifted her up, above, and over, so that her torso was splayed over his chest now. He closed his eyes back again, satiated and tired, before falling right back into sleep, disregarding her knick-knackering on his arm again. But he failed, because then, her voice broke him into of his continuous dream-lifted state.

It startled him 'cause they didn't talk. In fact, they never usually did anything but fall asleep.

That was just the way things worked. It was a quiet, taciturn relationship they had started, but both enjoyed it. Somehow, it solidified their siblingness, and was quiet comfort. It was unspoken understanding—at least, thats what Fang saw it as. He felt like he knew a lot more about Max just sleeping with her, here, with him, than anyone else, and through anything else.

His eyes broke open at the soft noise in the large white room.

It sounded loud, loud, larger than anything else, reverberating around before it finally hit his ears and registered. He grew quiet and attentive, in surprise more out of anything else. She spoke.

"You.." Max started hesitantly, now no longer playing with his fingers, but with her chin resolutely propped on top of his left shoulder. Fang tensed and closed his eyes again in the dark, feeling her mint-breath on his skin. What was she going to say?

"You... Did you ever have a girlfriend in Massachusetts?"

Fang's grip on her waist, lying ontop of his form, tightened, and then slackened. He let go of her, and turned completely away from her, so that she fell off his chest and that his back was now facing her front. He could practically sense her indignance at the movement, lying on the bed, no longer raised in height while ontop of him. He closed his eyes again, ignoring her and pillowing his hands beneath his head, resolutely trying to go back to sleep.

A question like that would bring back too many memories up for him. He didn't want to bother thinking about that.

Take it up to Max to ask the most bothersome question on earth, ever.

"Sleep, Max" he forcibly grumbled, "Go back to sleep, Max."

The question was something far, far away from him now. He didn't need it.

"But I wasn't asleep in the first place," she commented, her voice providing a stark contrast to his own forcibly grumbling one—it was curious, and wide awake.

He knew he couldn't win this one.

Hearing her irritated grumbling, he turned around to lift his arm and place it over her waist again. His eyes closed, he rubbed soft slow ovals on the side of her waist with the tip of his thumb, coaxing her into falling asleep and forgetting the question she asked.

It wasn't working though. He knew. He was awake after that question, and so was she.

This was pretty strange, honestly, he thought. Max would usually fall asleep at the drop of a hat, after selfishly lugging herself all over him. Why wasn't she able to fall asleep now?

It only made things awkward. They were both wide awake as he caressed her slowly and softly, both totally, completely aware of his hands on her body, and saying nothing.

It was a new experience, and for a long while, Fang just kept on doing it to see if she could really go on letting him, aware of it but saying nothing. He heard her unsteadied breathing, saw her wide-open, awake eyes, and knew she wasn't asleep, with no predisposition to _fall_ asleep, yet he kept making those motions on her skin.

Time passed. Minutes. Hours. They didn't know. But after a while, he stopped touching her. This game was getting old and tired.

"No," he lied in the darkness, his gruff voice the first resonance in the room in a long time.

The house was empty except for the two of them, Jeb taking an all-nighter at the office, and Ella had decided to staying over at the friend's house she'd visited today.

It was quiet for a moment longer.

"You're lying," she succinctly stated, apathy and curiosity in all crevices of her voice.

"How would you know?" he countered uncaringly. He was challenging her. How _would_ she know?

"Gazzy said it."

"Ah."

He had let out some of the finer details of his promiscuity before, with some of the kids on the block—the younger ones, who were still fine and curious and unexperianced—just breaching the prospect of puberty. He thought he'd humour them with retellings of his past promiscuity. Weird, funny jokes, but still things that'd get them hot on their tails—like telling them what felt good—the feeling of your hands on a nice girl's nice soft, curvy hips. The curves that lead down to their waists...

Finding himself in the memories, Fang did the same to Max, feeling around her abdomen and trailing his lithe fingers down her waist, making her shudder slightly. He continued looking up her answer and wondering what to say next. So she knew he had experience. So what? What was the big deal? He was a high school junior—he was nearly 17. It'd be weird for him _not_ to have experiance. Granted he had more than most people.. but why was she asking?

Being a guy, naturally, some hormone-induced, lust-filled, creative idea began to fill his mind.. maybe she wanted to be.. _taught_ some things.. Oh, he could show her.. The idea immediately started getting him hard, and he pushed it out of his mind immediately.

His _half-_sister was flesh and blood. What would he show her? _Max_, right here, was his half-sister_._

This was gross. He couldn't believe he had actually made her shudder. He couldn't have been doing that with his hands with her. He was disgusted with himself for a moment. How could he have made her shudder like that? That was a concious decision, and he was disgusting. He need to stop. Gross, gross. Get your hands off your sister. Stop making her _shudder_.

She shouldn't be _shuddering_.. she shouldn't be getting _we_—he stopped his thoughts midway. He shouldn't even _consider_ what she might be doing or feeling physically when he touched her. That just wasn't right. He was her brother.

He realized he had been touching her.. the way he'd touch one of his old girlfriends proceeding some foreplay.

He immediately lifted his hands off her hips ontop of him and put them by his sides.

"So?" he asked quietly into the darkness. He noted the hostile tint in his own voice, and apparently, so had Max. She automatically felt cold without his hands on her.

"How did you ask them?" she asked, just as quietly and resolutely. She sounded genuinely curious, but he still couldn't fathom _why_ she was curious about that. She still couldn't fathom why he was suddenly getting all cold.

In his mind, it make sense for a guy to ask some stuff like that—although they usually wouldn't—but for a girl? Unless she wanted to ask a guy out? But then why ask a guy for advice on how to ask a girl out?

Where was this useless, misleading, misplaced conversation leading to? Especially in the middle of the night? Fang peripherally sighed in exasperation. He was so tired; he wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't, with this girl next to him. This annoying, irritating girl, who was **_not_ **his sister. That was it. He was refusing to see her as a sister. She was just _so_ irritating, and nothing like those picturesque, picture perfect 'sister' relationship-type people he'd observed in school and on tv. No sister was like _this._

What was he supposed to say to her? 'I never really asked them out. They all sorta jumped themselves on me, and whoever I liked, I decided to sit with or lay, if I ever let it get that far.'

No. That wouldn't bode well with her. And she knew he had experience, but not _that_ kind of experience. And he didn't want her to know. No one had to know here, what kind of guy he was there. What kind of friends he was friends with, what kind of girls he had liked to see.

He was different now, a changed person. This was different. And he didn't want to tell Max anything.

"There was this one girl I liked.." he started, thinking about the one true time he'd asked a girl out. It had been in sixth grade, but Max didn't have to know that it was that far back and immature.

"She was this pretty chinese girl I had liked for a long while," he said honestly and quietly, staring softly up into the dark space of the ceiling he couldn't quite distance exactly.

"So I asked her out.. and we ate at a McDonald's cause my guy-friend said not to show her up too much on the first date," he said with a quiet smirk.

"So, obviously, she dumped me," he finished with a sense of finality.

The last part was untrue, but that was besides the point.

The truth was that the girl had moved away. And then had come the horde of girls at high school. He had never asked a girl out besides her, in the 6th grade.

Fang supposed that making himself seem like the type that got dumped easily would give him points for measure in front of Max—at least to not make him seem like some ridiculous party-boy—which he was categorized as in his old school. Although, he wouldn't say he really was. All his friends had been party-type guys. All the girls which his friends had hung out with, had been partiers. They had just mostly been at his house, just since it was completely massive. It didn't mean he was also a partier.

Its just that.. he wasn't _stupid_.. he was a hormonal teenage guy. So any normal guy would get with a girl if they could, wouldn't they?

It didn't make him a crazy party-boy. He'd just had.. experiences. The truth was that he was nothing like them—he was just always.._there_.

Sure.. he had had a notorious reputation for being a bitch to females.. but that was because he didn't really trust them. And it was besides the point. The only reason he was a bitch to most of them was because he didn't really like any of them anyhow. Especially if he was_ annoyed _that they were _throwing_ themselves on him. He didn't like that. But whatever. A guy gets bored sometimes. Could he really be hated for taking advantage of some of them sometimes? So what if he'd had experience? It was a weird, frivolous, messed up type of experience. He'd never actually been in a meaningful, less-than-shallow relationship he was actually _happy_ in.

Most of the time, having a girlfriend was just sort of a pain—something you had to do for the sex. So he'd had some sex. So what? How could you call that experience? That'd been the _only_ experience he'd had: Sex, with girls he'd never even truly liked. Thats the only reason he was bored with it. It was a pathetic excuse of experience, but experience nevertheless, as society dictates it to be so.

And all that was besides the point. He wanted to change things here, on the other side of the continent. He was sick of it. Sick of his life at high school.

"Why're you asking?" he asked, reflecting on his convoluted, so-called _experience_. He had been truly, seriously, messed up in high school. And it was precisely the reason he didn't want to go _back_—at the very least next _Thursday_.

Not so early. Part of him was just afraid he'd be messed up all over again. That he would _get_ messed up all over again. He didn't want to do that—to his dead mother, to his dead step-father, to Max and Iggy, so that they could see what he _truly_ was.

He was afraid he'd get messed up all over again. He was afraid he'd get into shit like pot and drugs all over again, get into that bad habit of laying girls and leaving them. Max and Iggy weren't like that—weren't like what he was—and he was hoping they'd be an influence on him. He wanted to _be_ like them.

"Nothing. I was just curious," Max replied.

"Sleep," he commanded gruffly in a deep low voice. She nodded slowly and amiably before turning around and pushing her hips back against his abdomen, establishing a common position that they usually slept in. He buried his head in her hair comfortably and closed his eyes, forgetting that strange discussion, his worrisome thoughts, and falling right back into the lull of sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Fang was woken up by Max early, which he had never been done by. He looked up groggily to the source of the loud noise, rubbing his eyes wearily—he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep last night thanks to Max.

And who else would be standing there? Except Max—her hands on her hips and her angry blond a sight to see. She was clad in a tight purple tanktop which hugged all of her beautiful feminine curves, and baggy blue-striped pants. That was the first thing he noticed so early in the morning—her sweet curves which he never failed to be surprised that he'd touched before. And then his eyes trailed back up her form from her hips to her face and eyes to see what her freaking issue was.. waking him up at 8 in the morning for no particular reason.

"Get out!" she screeched at him exasperatedly. Fang squinted and distastefully flinched at the rebounding threat, confused, splain across the spanse of her large bed and wondering why she was being so strangely bitchy so early in the morning. Especially when they had gone to sleep so late at night with that.. 'discussion.'

"Wha?" he asked grumpily, but then chose not to bother with wondering, he closed his eyes "fine, whatever, do whatver.. im gone," he replied yawning, getting up off her bed and opening the door. Her eyes watched his slumped form exit her room carefully. He walked out and walked out two feet to the corner of his own room's door, opening it and plopping down onto the cold sheets. He lay on the mattress that he hadn't slept on for over two weeks straight. He immediately found his sleep again though, no worries on his mind.

Max shut the door behind Fang, locking it tightly.

And then she turned around, a worried twitch of a frown on her face, as she stared at her open closet.

What in the world was she going to wear?

* * *

Max didn't usually care about what she wore, her hair, or anything extra special..

Self-admittedly, she was a tomboy, and mostly everyone knew that. It was obvious.

Now that was the trouble..

Today was the day.. Iggy asked her to hang out today.. Which was nothing really special.. but somehow, it _felt_ special.

Iggy and she had been best friends since the start of grade school; they'd hung out alone tons of times.

But the way Iggy had asked her yesterday to hang out with him.. it was different.

Sort of.

Maybe.

That was the problem--she wasn't quite sure..

All she knew was that Iggy had been treating her differently since a few days ago.

She couldn't sleep last night. She stayed up all last night wondering what Iggy would do or how he'd act, so she asked Fang how he had acted with his own ex-girlfriends. She knew he'd lied when he said he'd had none; she was a bit slow at times, but not completely _stupid_—he was just _that_ type of guy. He was self-assured and not very self-concious. A guy like that had obviously had a few girlfriends. He had confidence in himself. She didn't get why he'd lied though.

And.. a girl like Max? She _was not _the type to have had 'a few boyfriends.' Never in the world would she have a clue if a guy liked _her_.

Sure.. she had liked Iggy before.. She had had a crush on him in the fourth grade.. but she got over it—or rather, gave up on it—as he only seemed to show interest in what he had previously dubbed "cootie girls."

And at that age, Max knew she couldn't compare. She hadn't had those curious bulges or balls of things on her chest that Iggy and the boys in her class seemed to like a lot.

But that had been when she was little. However, she had never really reimbursed her hopes of Iggy liking her, ever. He had just never considered her as a girl, and she'd come to terms with it. He was attracted to a more.. voluptuous species..

But somewhere.. in the back of her mind, she was distinctly aware of how red she had become yesterday; flushed.. when yesterday, in his room, Iggy had shown her his new project.. and then..

then.. went on a rant.. it wasn't in his normal, silly, joking voice.

His voice had dropped low, his face lacked the usual goofiness in it.

He had asked quietly if she minded if he looked at her. Startled at the request, and slightly wierded out by it, she had complied hesitantly.

And he had come forward, close to her face; so very very close, his eyes skimming over, his pepper-mint toothpaste smelling breath on her face.

And then, really quietly, his eyes skimming forward this way and that, he had breathed, "..never noticed before how gorgeous you've gotten"

This was different.. this was.. _Iggy_.

It had surprised her, but she was happy. Because? ..Because she had _always_ liked him.

He asked quietly later, if she wanted to hang out with him today.

He hadn't said it was a date or anything, but something felt.. special about it. She had only gone out on one date before—this guy named Sam in 8th grade, who was now the allstar quarterback of their school's football team. It had been weird, and she hadn't even liked him.

And she hadn't cared about what she'd worn to her date with Sam. She'd thrown on anything and they'd gone to the ice cream shop, where she'd begun to wonder why he even liked her.

This was.. different. Max was blushing like crazy and as nervous as heck as she stared at her sad, pathetic excuse of a closet. It seemed like she had nothing to wear.

_Relax Max, this isn't even a date. Don't get in over your head.. he wouldn't want to go out with you.._

Iggy made her nervous now. it made her feel like she actually had some hope.

On some level, Max wondered how Iggy would even notice her clothing.. but then her mind flashed back to that time when Fang had first come, and Iggy had bent down and leaned forward to her on the grass and his eyes had trailed over her face carefully and visually, as he had soaked in every detail of her lightly-freckled face.

Which worried Max..

That moment had got her face blown up red, and her heart all flustered.. And if Iggy did stuff like that often..

She knew how desperately he wanted to see clearly again. His world was an inevitable mass of blurriness unless he was within 12 inches of what he wanted to look it. And he'd.. probably want to see.. her.

Which meant.. being close.. She was elated, but nervous. Her relationship with Iggy had been rocky for a long while, as he had spent the latter portion of their sophomore year hanging with his guy friends more than with her. And now.. he was being different _now_.

She wished she had a clue about him.

Scared and tired as she stared bleekly at her messy closet. What was she supposed to wear?

Max walked down the steps which led down to the living room tensely, wondering how awkward she looked—she definitely _felt_ it.

She reminded herself to take deep breaths—to _calm_ down.. and then decided she'd ask Fang about how she looked.

She reached the bottom steps to see Fang sitting slouched on the couch facing the large television in the living room, his head down as he typed continuously and carefully on his laptop, quick clicking noises resounding throughout the room as the television blared on silently in front of him.

Max walked down nervously, pushing her hand back behind her to pull the back of the A-line dress down. She shuffled awkwardly as she placed herself in front of the tv, in front of Fang, but he kept on looking down typing away.

She began to get annoyed—was she really that obsessed with his stupid computer and his internet? Gosh. She recalled him once typing away on a Blog Editor once, when she'd peeked over his shoulder once. He'd defensively snatched the screen in his hands and turned it away from them though, when he had noticed.

Her brow twitched as she kept on staring at him. A small smirk grew on his face as he kept on typing away at something and staring at the screen. He must be Instant Messaging, she irritatingly noted.

She put her hands on her hips and began to glare at him—one of those intense death glares she hadn't had the grace to give him in a while.

Feeling it prickling on his skin, Fang suddenly looked up past the head of laptop to see her, his face blank and questioning, wondering what it was that she wanted.

It was already 12, and she'd woken him up and kicked him out of her room at around 8. He had already gotten his fair share of missed sleep and eaten breakfast, lounging about in the living room, while noticing that Max still hadn't gotten out of her room.

He didn't care about what she'd been doing up there—girls could be weird sometimes. He looked up to her now, questioning.

She was standing there, looking pretty ticked off, her hands on her hips, and one foot tapping impatiently.

"How does this dress look?" she demanded of him.

Fang furrowed his eyebrows as he brought his pupils down to assess her body. Indeed, she was wearing a dress.

Max watched him look at her for a second before finding her face again, his impending answer beating in her heart nervously as she waited. She hoped she looked nice for Iggy—considering he was (ironically) such a _visual_ person.

..She debated wearing that special bra which made her look a lot more fuller in the chest area.. but then decided not to. She wanted to be Iggy's best friend, even if she liked him, not some cootie lady—even _if_ he was attracted to them.. She hoped Iggy liked her.. for what he knew of her instead, like why she liked him.

She hadn't even noticed she'd liked him until she'd felt herself become so happy when he'd asked to go out with her.

Fang stared at her apathetically.

"It looks okay," he said, staring at her, looking rather bored.

Max couldn't help but feel annoyed at his answer. It was absolutely apathetic and uncaring—_no one_ could read anything deeper into that.

But thats just what Fang was. He said it looked okay, so she trusted him and frowned. Iggy would probably be waiting on the porch in about ten minutes. She was nervous and worried.

She was worried that she was deluding herself and reading too much into this now. She had initially thought that he'd become increasingly disattracted to her, considering his obvious distance the past few months. In fact, she had never even admitted it to herself—that she liked him.

And.. she didn't want to screw it up now. Knowing herself, Maximum Ride, she held potential to screw a lot of things up. She frowned again, sitting on the couch perpendicular to Fang's, as she waited for the clock to strike 1.

Fang peripherally noted her sitting down on the other couch and wondered if she'd even eaten breakfast yet, considering he hadn't seen her come out of her room until just now.

He wondered why she even asked him about her dress—she didn't seem to ever care about her clothing. He didn't really care about the dress though.. it was just a dress, what was there to say about it? It wasn't anything special, and he recalled Ella wearing it once before. It was plain teal and just seemed like a more flow-y, extended tanktop on her. Not slutty, not incredibly modest, just _a _dress.

Besides, Fang was less impressed by the female body. He cared less about what they wore, and more about how they looked underneath. Afterall, ugly bodies could be hidden easily by flattering clothing, and so could nice ones, by unflattering clothing. Clothing and types of clothing mattered really little to him, so he mostly focused on the girl's face, if he couldn't properly assess their bodies.

He debated wondering why Max was being so jittery and uptight today towards him, but decided to put it out of his mind. She was probably just PMSing or something.

"Fang?" her voice broke out. It was quiet, unlike her usual voice, and he looked up to her from his laptop screen.

"Yeah," he replied, raising an eyebrow. She could really be so hot-and-cold sometimes. He pitied Jeb.

"What was.. your girlfriend like? That chinese girl?" she asked hesitantly, looking shy away from him.

Fang brought his hand up to scratch his head. The girl was from _sixth_ grade, he had neglected to tell Max. He didn't remember much about her. He just liked her cause she was pretty and nice and was really really smart smelled good too. Her long straight black hair was brush over her shoulder and whisp past his face whenever she'd show him how to do a math problem.

"Um.. she was.. nice?" he replied unhelpfully, raising an brow.

Max huffed agitatedly and threw him an annoyed look, to which he just shrugged. Why was she even asking him these weird questions anyhow? He didn't know how to answer. Max was finding him thoroughly unhelpful as to how _not_ to mess up her relationship with Iggy.

"I'm going out," she said irritatedly to him, throwing him a glare, as she got up and walked out of the living room.

Fang watched her go uncaringly, going back to checking his RSS feeds on his laptop.

* * *

**A/N:**

So I'm in the process of rewriting 17, 18, 19,

I realized I cant continue the story if it doesnt go perfectly the way I intended, so I'm making some tiny edits in each of them.

Hope you guys dont get bored of rereading!

Review please, for more chapters/


	18. Stupid

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance that they can't help but defy through nature. AU human. _

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: Stupid  
**

I got home at 7:30 and stared up at the ceiling from my bed.

I felt.. I felt like.. such a _girl_. For the time ever, I felt like _such_ a girl.

I hadn't expected it to be like this; I'd just expected.. awkwardness.

I wanted to hug myself and squeal.--Yes, believe it or not.

Iggy was acting so different today. It was really, really different.

Dare I say it, he seemed nervous. He treated me.. specially, apprehensively, carefully.

He wasn't his usual, normal, casual, joking self.

All the other girls at school talked about him as being suave in this same way. They all seemed to swoon over him. I never understood their comments though, since I'd never seen him like that before. Iggy being a best friend, and Iggy being a _guy_.. was.. uh, different.

It was actually sort of wierd and awkward. He was making it that way though. It was different though, and my instinct told me that it was something that was good, considering I liked him.

There was a certain, strange, convoluted attraction to feeling completely helpless under someone, especially if it was a someone you liked. Perhaps that was the reason why I felt like such a _girl_ now.. _that_ was the difference in our relationship now—I was really in control now.. considering he was so nervous and ready to cater to my needs.

But the way he acted felt.. completely suave, and gentle. Like he knew me from the inside out; and he did. Though he was naturally upbeat and happy most of the time, he was slow and thoughtful, as if trying to drag out time longer, taking his time. Though I admit, I just stayed mobile, more out of surprise.

He didn't mind though—Iggy knew everything about me, understood me and my past on a vast different variety of levels.

My heartbeat had accelerated when I'd seen him first, a dorky half-sleeved flannel button-down that matched his blue eyes perfectly, on his casual, slouching form, standing in front of the picket fencing between our houses. He had actually made an effort to get dressed up.

He was a lot more suave than I'd ever expected him to be; I realized why most girls fell for him at school. He knew how to be funny and charming, and he knew how to flirt well, and flatter someone and make them blush, though he'd never done it with _me_. So I'd never known _how_ or _why_—just that girls _did_ fall for him. He'd never treated _me_ like a girl before though. Though.. today, had been different.

Today, he didn't treat me charmingly casually like he did most of the girls at school, but with.. admiration. He wasn't being a meaningless flirt.. but was, something else.

I didn't think I expected him to be half as nervous as he was though.

Afterall, he hadn't officialy declared it a date or anything. But it was wierd.. cause we he had both gotten dressed up especially.. and recently, we had only hung out together along with the presence of Fang along with us, or at someone's house.

He'd held my hand too, when we were walking back from Funtopia. It was wierd, unexpected, and we didn't say anything about it, but stood their quietly, walking. We hadn't held hands since were were in elementary school and little kids.

And now wasnt the same.. it was different, much more meaningful.

I wanted to pull my hair out in frustration. Iggy was so confusing. That'd been unexpected, but sort of expected at the same time, considering the way he'd been acting recently.

Maximum Ride, blushing? Yeah, didn't believe it either. Especially since I knew this kid forever.

At first, it was awkward, but he'd started walking and then I noticed he'd brought us to the kid's amusement place we'd frequent when we were like 7 or 8. We sat down at a table in the restaurant and ordered our lunch, watching the little kids running around and playing on the indoor jungle gym, not saying anything.

It was quiet, and wierd, and awkward, and dumb.

Iggy was the same—the same best friend I'd been missing forever—the same funny guy I fell in love with in the 4th grade, but something was _different_ now. There was a certain hesitance in his actions that he didn't have before, when he usually just treated me like another one of the guys. I realized, on some level.. he was _cautious_.

He was scared not to mess up; I could read him like a book.

I guess that was the difference, in his holding my hand. He was _careful_, and _appreciative, _unlike how he was before—throwing me around like one of the guys, or taking _everything and anything_ lightly.

I liked his new demeanor though, however awkward it was. I liked _Iggy_ a lot.

It.. it almost made me feel _like a girl_.

Dare I thought that.. he liked me, I thought as I stared up at my ceiling, an idiotic grin on my face.

"Max, are you in there?" I heard a soft, gentle voice call out, coupled with a knock on my door.

This time though, I actually did scream, and jumped off the bed to run to my door and slam it open. I had heard my mom's voice. She had gotten back from her veterinary seminar.

I squeezed her in a gigantic hug, rocking her back and forth, and her startled stance showed her surprise at the sudden impact. I don't know why, but all of a sudden, I missed her so, _so_ much and wanted to _talk_.

"Haha... Max, are you okay?" she asked, laughing and patting my back gently.

"Yeah, sure, mom, I just missed you a lot," I replied, my voice muffled, as my head was smashed into her nice-mom-smelling parka.

I let go of her and smiled, "I missed you a lot," I repeated, coherently this time. She laughed again and then curiously looked me up and down.

"You're wearing a dress," she observed, "My, I don't think I've seen you in a dress since our last business party, and I don't know _when_ before that."

I looked down and assessed myself too. Now I'd have to explain, though I was planning to anyway; my mom was cool like that.

"Yeah.. I took it from Ella.." I replied sheepishly, pulling it down self-consciously, "does it look bad?" I asked—Fang was useless. I wondered what Iggy had thought, though he hadn't commented on it. Iggy was quiet like that.. and he knew itd just make it awkward if he _had. _Those were still one of those things it was hard to breach from best guy-girl-friend relationship to potential-maybe-he-likes-me compliments. And I wasn't the type to take them in grace either..

"You look divine, honey, but what was the occasion?" she asked curiously, worry somehow growing on her face.

My face grew embarrassed, as I walked back into my carpeted room, my mom following. She sat down on the side of my bed and faced me, a small grin on her face, as I leaned against one of the pillows against the headboard.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to just make a good excuse as to why I was wearing this dress.. anything better than to admit that I like Iggy (and want him to like me too..)

I had wanted to admit it to Fang, cause it would've helped his advice-giving, especially since he was Iggy's best friend now, but completely didn't know how to go about it and finally just utterly gave up last night, resorting to asking him silly, useless questions about his own love life. He must've thought I was definitely a wierdo then..

But I had to get my guts up to do this anyway.. I didn't keep secrets from my mom.

"Nothing, I just hung out with Iggy today" a said, muffled. I'd be surprised if she even heard me.

But she's got those mother instincts, I guess, cause she clasped her hands.

"Oh, really? What did you do?" she asked somewhat nervously, uneasily smiling. I refused to meet her eyes, and felt around behind me to grasp another pillow and hug it.

The nervouseness on her face was telling me something strange.. It did seem fishy though--me wearing a dress to hang out with my best friend?

"It was.. fun.. good.." I lied. It was awkward as heck--not fun. She looked even more suspicious at the response. My previous dating experience had been absolutely abysmal—I'd come home bored silly, and completely unamused, whining and ranting and complaining about boys.

As far as my mom knows, I'm a-sexual. And don't wear dresses. Though, that didnt stop her from urging me to go out with boys more often.

"Is that so..?" she asked again slowly. I gave her a skeptical look, which made clear that I knew what she was dying to ask.

"Okay, okay, sorry.. So was it a date?"

"...It's Iggy," I replied after a small moment. That obviously meant 'no'.

But instead, she started laughing, which began to really tick me off.

"Whats so funny?" I demanded, while watching her convulse on the side of the bed.

"Haha, nothing honey, its just you've been into the boy for _so long,"_ she said, her eyes tearing up in laughter, "that boy has had you so mopey, for _such_ a long time and now you're telling me that you didn't go on a date when you wore a dress just to hand out with him?" she asked.

I blinked a few times in surprise. She had noticed that I'd liked him? Even I hadn't noticed until just last night, when I'd felt all fluttery in my stomach, after he'd begun to act this way.

That was a strange question to hear from her as well. If Iggy did like me, going out with him definitely didn't help my case with Jeb—what more could piss him off but actually _going_ out with the _one particular_ kid he_ hated? _(Perhaps it had something to do with Iggy blowing up our garage door in the 5th grade.. Or maybe it the time he miscalculated his bomb, and created an enormous crater in our backyard..)I wasn't quite so sure about Mom. As far as I knew, she was never antagonistic towards Iggy, and they'd even often talk about different cooking dishes with eachother. I didn't know she'd approve of him though, especially since Jeb disliked him so much.

"Mo-om" I started to whine irritatedly, as she went on to describe all the clues and hints she'd noticed, "I swear he's--"

"Is that really true?" a small, high-pitched voice sounded from behind her back. Mom turned around to face the door, as I craned my neck to see behind her too.

"Oh my gosh, did Iggy really ask you out?!" Ella suddenly squealed, wide eyed, as she ran into my room, looking back and forth between my averted eyes and our mom's mirthful ones.

"No!" I adamantly expressed

But then Ella _squealed__, _and jumped onto the bed beside me, making my Mom jump up on the mattress, as she embraced me into a tight hug.

"Oh my god, he asked you out on a date didn't he?! And he's Fang's best friend and Fang stayed home today and you're wearing my dress, oh my gosh, you guys are going out now!!"

I was doubly surprised, as I hadn't seen Ella since the day she had first gotten back from camp, as if she was nearly trying to avoid being near me.

But I soon grew agitated in her conclusion, though there was obviously no solution to getting her to shut up.

Even if she knew it was untrue, she'd still believe it was true.

She had been acting weird ever since she came back from camp, and hadn't given me the time to even talk to her about it.

She pulled back from the hug to see me, her eyes wide and excited. I looked at Mom helplessly; Ella was _so _boycrazy.

"I'll leave you two girls to it then," Mom replied, quietly laughing at me, before getting up off the mattress, "and come down for dinner at 9,"

I choked in disbelief as Mom left me facing Ella as she enthusiastically began to give me a detailed and acute assessment on how the dress highlighted or discouraged each and every feature on my bones. Ella could help, sometimes.

However, as many times as I insisted that it wasnt a date and that I wasn't sure that he liked me, she refused to believe me. It was actually sort of bizzarre.

For some reason though, there was an extra-special little sparkle in her eyes. She kept on saying "I knew it," "oh my gosh," and "Aww," but there was also a breath of fresh air in her.. almost as if.. she was incredibly, intoxicatedly _relieved_. Like she was straining herself to believe it.

* * *

"Fang," Ella suddenly addressed at the dinner table.

Yes, we were eating at the dinner table. Maybe it was just cause Mom was back and she was cooking dinner for the first time in a long while, or maybe just cause Fang and I had grown so accustomed to doing it during our two weeks by ourselves, but we were sitting around the dinner table now—all of us. Jeb was away working late at this night though, which I can't say I was complaining about.

Fang looked up to Ella attentively, putting all his attention on her.

I suddenly noticed that about Fang—he always gave Ella his full attention whenever she spoke, like the way you'd pay close attention to a toddler speaking, whether gibberish or not: to make them feel special.

And at that moment, when I'd looked up to see Fang's eyes solely and attentively on Ella's face, closely listening and waiting for whatever she wanted to say to him, I realized something: Fang _endeared_ Ella.

Which made sense. From what I'd seen of Ella and her interaction with Fang before (minus however strangely she'd been acting since she came back from camp), she treated him admiringly.

Fang _treated_ Ella like a baby sister; he paid attention to her; he humored her; he joked around with her; he gave her advice. Fang _adored_ Ella, and saw her as _a _baby sister. Like, _actually._

He was a better elder sibling than I was.

And thats what I hadn't noticed until just now, watching him keep his eyes on her attentively. It was given though—I had barely seen Ella interact with Fang since the first time they'd met.

However, I frowned at the exchange she had started. Fang listened to her intently, but Ella was no longer.. visibly _admiring_ him. She spoke nonchallantly and disrespectfully, almost as if she had no care in the world as to the fact that he was there. Which was strange, considering I couldn't _ever_ recall Ella behaving in such a rude manner before. She was always a docile, demure, soft-hearted person. She took to heart everything that anyone said, and would never treat anyone so lightly.

Though _what_ she was saying in such a strange manner.. sort of caught me off track.

"Do you know Iggy asked Max out today?"

Fang's eyebrows raised his eyebrows the slightest bit, in near surprise. No one else could notice the slight change in his facial expression but me though. He passed me a calculative, sidelong glance as she reached the end of her sentence, assessing me quietly, before turning his gaze back unto her. It was fleeting as heck, and not even detectable, but there.

"Yeah, I planned it"

What?! I almost screeched. What the heck did he know? We didn't even go out on a _date_. Now Fang was making stuff up too, to hide his surprise? What a douche-ish character.

He always ate politely in front of Mom and other people, but I noted that otherwise, he'd just slurp everything down like heck, crazily. It sort of pissed me off, how deceiving he could be, how polite he could be, when he was actually completely capable of being a jerk and completely caveman-uncivilized on the inside. My brow twitched seriously as I watched him take another polite and civilized sip. He was just ace at putting on a show.. covering things up, like he wasnt like that in real life.

The prickling probably vibrated on his forehead, cause he looked up from his bowl to look at me questioningly.

"I didn't go out with him!" I said exasperatedly.

"Oh well. Even if you didn't, I probly still planned it."

Mom was staring at the three of us with amusement written on her face. She seemed incredibly happy though, watching the three of us. Ella seemed genuinely confused, frowning and her brows furrowed.

I scoffed and turned my head, but he had no care for why I was peeved at him.

Ella was watching our exchange carefully, while Mom served us more food on our plates.

"Thanks Dr. Martinez," Fang said appreciatively as he received his sixth helping.

"Well anyway, Max has totally been in love with him since the 4th grade," Ella commented again.

_That was totally unnecessary_, I angrily decided in my head.

"I have _not_!" I countered indignantly. It would make me seem so.. small and pathetic, to have been pining after him for 7 years.. especially when he's definitely had his fair share of girlfriends.

I had confided in Ella my worries about that too—all of Iggy's previous girlfriends had been short temporary flings, and I didn't want to become like one of the other girls.

"Girls, calm down, and stop bickering. And Ella, you should respect your sister's feelings and privacy," Mom reprimanded before getting up and leaving for the kitchen to get desert.

I rolled my eyes exasperatedly.

Times like these were the _opportune_ moments that dictate exactly _why_ little sisters are so annoying. I sighed in exasperation, but to my surprise, the Fang spoke up.

"Yeah, but Iggy's slow" Fang expressed in response to Ella's comment in the middle of his sip of soup, staring up at us from his head over the bowl of soup, "Iggys' been irritating me for a while about her. Hasn't stopped asking me questions about you and practically forced me to help him plan how he should make his move. Its good he finally got the gall up to do it though," he said, much to my surprise.

"What?!" I practically shrieked at him. Iggy and Fang had _discussed _about me?!! **Fang had helped Iggy ask me out**?! What the flying f**k?!

Fang was definitely making all this up.

He waited a moment before he looked back up to me unamusedly.

"Annoying. For. A. While," he repeated slowly, as if I lacked the brain power to decipher it. I threw him a glare as I tried to _repeat_ my actual question, but Ella looked more surprised than I did.

"When?" I then demanded of him angrily, and I peripherally saw Mom coming back and frowning at how I was treating Fang, so I sat back down on my seat, but didn't loosen the glare a notch. Fang paused for a moment, staring at me, before he spoke again.

"He always asked me things, as if I should keep tabs on you and where you go all the time," Fang replied, his bored onyx eyes steady on my own. "He's been waiting to ask you out since the 10th grade," he interjected half-heartedly, before going back down to his bowl of soup. I sat there in shock for a moment—how the hell should _I_ have known _that that_ was the reason Iggy'd been avoiding me for so long?

"But hadn't had the courage to do it cause he thought you'd reject him. I told him to shut up and just do it cause I placed money for you not saying 'no'. When I reminded him that you're _my sister,_" he paused, taking another bite of rice, "he finally shut up. I'm glad he finally got it over with though," he finished.

"I think me dealing with me gives me the credit to say that I caused it," he said self-appreciatedly.

I was slightly in shock—in more than one ways, but mostly at how casually Fang was saying all this. Ella was too, I had observed, but she was more reserved. She looked sort of regretful after his speech, a hint of confusion lingering on her face as well.

My mom, on the other hand, looked delighted, although I could tell she felt like reprimanding Fang for the placing-money comment.

But seriously?! He had BET that I'd say YES?! What the fuck.

My mom was probably happy, not only at the fact that Fang was speaking casually to us, instead of being reserved and silent, but also because of his hearty appetite, and his casual reference of me as his sister. As if he was actually assimilating into this family—which he actually had. Nevertheless, Fang was an easy, laid-back type of guy; he went with the flow—there wasn't _active_ assimilation going on around here.

I didn't know what to make of his speech though. It was certainly a speech on his terms, at the very least, but the information.. was so.. pretentious and obscure.. sort of like Fang himself.

* * *

Max looked at me curiously once I finished speaking. For a second I debated wondering whether that was a bad choice of speech to relinquish.

Meh. Whats done is done.

Ella looked at me regrettably and I wondered what she was thinking. There was something strange and soft and childlike on her young face, as if she couldn't believe what I was saying.

There was something at unease going on in Ella's mind, that I had noticed since she had first gotten back from camp, and it seemed to be steadily unraveling as the time went by. However, what if it were unraveling into another knot now? I couldn't help but wonder as I assessed her transparent, child-like face.

Dr. Martinez, on the other hand, seemed to be completely elated at my presence of speech in general.

"Oh, Fang, I heard Jeb took you to get registered at Browning High school yesterday, did you take your assessment tests today? How did they go?"

"Okay," I replied, turning to her. I knew it didn't satiate her—alot of speech made her feel reassured by me, but what in the hell was I supposed to say? It went OK.

Not that I really cared about my classes anyway—I just didn't want to repeat anything I'd already taken—that'd be a pain, and an irritating one at that.

I couldn't stand things being said more than once.

School would be starting on Thursday, and today was a Tuesday.

Agh. What a pain.

I went up to my bedroom and sat down on my single twin-sized mattress in my 9x11 room (I had tidied it up after that day Max had come in and looked so repulsively at it), and found myself staring down at my toes and furrowing my eyebrows in concentration.

This situation was different today. I hadn't come up to room like this in a really, _really_ long time until today.

Because the house was full today. For the first time in a long time, it wasn't just me.. and _her_.

Ella had stayed at her friends' houses every single night since she'd gotten back, Max saying that Ella had said she missed them during camp.

But she was here now, Max's mom was here now. And..

And above it all, Max was _my sister, _but we enjoyed sleeping beside one another, and that.. wasn't allowed. Even between siblings, when you reach as old at nearly 17-years of age, it _definitely_ isn't allowed.

And also.. also, she has a _boyfriend_ now.

I wasn't really sure what that significance was, and honestly, I didn't really want to think too hard about why her having a boyfriend translated into: I shouldn't go into her room anymore. Somehow, implications started getting mixed in to _what_ her having a boyfriend has to do with _me_, her _brother_.

I didn't really want to think too hard about _why_ her having a boyfriend now, felt significant to me.

I had been nonchallant at dinner, like I had truly felt. But all of sudden, I felt like kicking myself and wondering _why_, when this was bugging me so much right now.

I was _happy _that Iggy had asked her out—_truly—_he was a good friend of mine, and I _knew_ how much she liked him, and vice versa. Additionally, I thought they'd make a great couple. I was honestly, completely, utterly happy for my best friend _and_ for _her. _Afterall, she'd been obsessing over him for a while now.

So.. that still didn't explain why I felt wrong about sleeping in her room now.

I didn't want to think too much of the reason _why_. Because she was my sister, afterall.

There should be nothing wrong with sleeping with her, right? She was my sister. No attraction involved, at all. She was my sister. I had nothing to feel uneasy about. Right?

Brother and sister could sleep in the same bed together, couldn't they? They could.

But.. something felt wrong; like a boundary broke once Ella had announced she had gotten a boyfriend now, and I just didn't feel like sleeping with her tonight. It didn't feel right. She had a boyfriend now. It felt like.. violating her privacy.

I was a guy too.

_But you're her brother, _a little voice inside my head said to me.

But I ignored it, cause it mostly just didn't make sense to me. I didn't want to think about it any longer.

So I lay back on my bed and pull open my laptop on my abdomen, putting headphones on my ears and started mindlessly, boredly, net-surfing.

However, no matter what I did, Max would still come back to my mind—at this time, hours ago, we'd already have been in her bed together, and asleep.

Max's mom gave us dinner at 9 tonight, which was totally late in comparison to how we'd normally eaten: at 7, with bed at 8.

I was normally a nocturnal person though, at least, back at Massachusetts. I had once read somewhere that teenagers have these hormones in them that make them want to go to sleep later and later in the night. Back in MA, I'd normally go to bed around 2 or 3 in the morning, staying up late, chatting with my friends, doing random shit, eating, I just wouldn't go to sleep so early. I couldn't.

Which meant all the more with me going to sleep so early with Max—moving here really meant I wanted to change me, and even my sleeping habits were.

But maybe it was just Max.

Because I was sitting here, lying in my room, typing away on my laptop, with no urge to fall dead slack asleep, and it was already 1:45. I couldn't go to sleep; it was just a natural urge not to. And I was sure the house with quiet by now, with everyone else asleep.

Except, suddenly, quietly, my bedroom door opened. Just the slightest bit, and slowly.

And I saw Max standing there, in a dorky long-sleeved flannel pajama top and bottom. She didn't say anything, but continued to stare at me, the glare from my laptop screen alighting my questioning face clearly, as I looked up to her, the only source of light in the room. I was awake too, she'd noticed.

We locked eyes and we knew what it was. We knew why she was there.

I knew what she wanted and what she meant, but she didn't say a word.

Anything. I wanted her to say _anything_. She couldn't though. What could she say? We didn't talk. We just _didn't_.

Except for yesterday night, where she'd asked me a bunch of weird questions about my past history (which I now realize, was because she was nervous about her date with Iggy), we hadn't spoken, ever, in bed.

It was a quiet, unspoken, comforting.

And I realized one thing in the midst of all of this: What _could_ she ask?

'Cause the primer reason I hadn't gone into her room tonight was because of Iggy. (_What _because of Iggy? NO Idea)—Somehow, I had felt that she might _mind_ sleeping with me now. That she might not _want _to anymore.

And I had _no_ problem with her not wanting to anymore. (Evidenced by my still state in my bed right now).

I dunno why. I dunno why that convoluted thought found its way into my head—that she might have _minded_, but it did, and it was the primer reason that I didn't go into her room tonight; because of Iggy.

I thought that Iggy would've been the catalyst that would've made her not want to need comforting anymore—at least, from me. I thought that would be the end. I was okay with it. I was happy, fine.

But now she was standing here, in front of me, in the doorway in front of the foot of my bed, staring at me questioningly, blankly, curiously. Like a searching, innocent lost doe, caught in the headlights.

And I had nothing to say. Because I suddenly realized _another_ circumstance in this situation: That it was in _1:45 in the morning_ that she was standing there, in front of me.

Sure, Max was naïve, but she was not naïve enough to not know that two grown teenagers shouldn't be found sleeping alone together on the same bed.

Max was naïve, but she was not stupid.

It was _2 AM_. She deliberately had come at _this_ time.

Everyone else in the house had been beckoned to sleep already, so she was standing there, staring at me, the glare of my LCD screen alighting my face as I steadily matched her gaze back. I was asking her why she was there, though I already knew the answer myself.

We were the only two ones awake now.

Max was naïve, but she was not stupid. She understood.. that no one should know about this. Thats why she had come at this time.

That we shouldn't be making our sleeping together a public thing.

She understood.. and that was what surprised me. Because I hadn't bothered to keep looking _deeper _into this.

I had always considered Max stupid. She was in it for the siblingness that this entitled—the close comfort. I was in it.. for a quiet night's sleep.

'Cause whenever I'd sleep alone in this small room, bad dreams and sweats would plague me about my old life and parents. It'd haunt me, and that was what had compelled me to continue sleeping with her.

Like I said before... It was a _narcotic _addiction.

And half the reason I was still up at this time right now was because I didn't _want_ to go to sleep, though Max's coming in had completely surprised me.

She _understood_ that it was not allowed, but came anyway, late, to hide us, _it_.

And somehow, the whole 'minding' issue I had used as an excuse about Iggy and not going into her room.. it had obviously been disproved. Max obviously didn't 'mind.' She was looking at me accusingly. As if I was doing something wrong.

So I removed the laptop from my lower chest, got up, and shut it down. I slipped my headphones off of my head, and sat up on the side of the bed.

The only light, emitting from my computer, had gone. Now we were just facing eachother in the dark. I could see her, and she me. I looked up to her questioningly. I was going to give her a challenge because I needed to make sure. She couldn't blame me for this afterwards. She needed to want it just as much as _I _did. And I did. I wanted it a lot.

But I did it anyway—I denied her. I needed to. So my eyes looked at her with crude incredulity, my brows furrowed pretentiously. I was silently asking her why she was in my room, what her problem was; we'd never slept together before and I really had no idea why she was standing in front of my door right now, as if it was all a foreign idea to me. I was rejecting her, to see if she'd actually _beg. _I needed to see. I was giving her a chance to back out—a _mean, crude_ chance, but a chance nonetheless. I was helping her.

I wanted to see if she'd take back coming here. I wanted to see if she understood _every_ and every_ **single**_ implication of her being there tonight, at night, right there.

_That we were doing this in secret._

We were _deliberately _going behind the backs of her mother and her sister.

And all this time, I thought she was stupid. But she understood.

She didn't move an inch, and continued staring at me pleadingly, her one hand on the doorknob.

We were admitting that this wasn't allowed in some convoluted way, but we didn't yet say it outloud. We didn't know _what _to say as to _why_ it was wrong in a way. Things were normal and okay between us, and we obviously didn't see anything blaringly wrong about it; it just wasn't _technically_ allowed, for some odd reason.

She kept standing there, one hand resting ontop of the doorknob, clad in her flannel cotton pajamas. She understood.

**This wasn't an accident, not a convenient undertaking, and it no longer qualified to be under the excuse of a _narcotic _obsession. **

This was a _want, _a_ need, _a physical_ craving._

So I unfurrowed my brows—she hadn't back down—and got to my feet—she understood _everything—_walking over to the door, and shutting it behind me, facing Max in front of me. We quietly walked to her room, where the AC was already up and cool, where and the shades and windows were already drawn shut. I slipped into the covers and the sheets of her room along with her, beside her, and she quietly asked me to hold her. And I quietly held her to me.

And I reveled in the feeling, and in the soft, unspoken words,

Mostly cause.. I realized that she wasn't stupid.

She understood.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Okay, so basically, Fang thinks Iggy has asked Max out and that theyre officially bf/gf now._

_But in actuality, Iggy didnt actually ask Max out. He just asked to hang out with her, and hasn't actually asked her out yet._

_Max just found out that Iggy likes her. Fang thinks theyre going out though._

_Yuppers.. Review please, thanks :)_

_Sorry if this chapter was confusing.  
_


	19. Expressionless

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in__ nature,__ and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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**I'm baack, sorry for the wait!! This is an epic chapter and I spent alot of time on it, so I hope you read and review!!**

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**Chapter Nineteen: Expressionless  
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Fang would wait until night to come into my room now, every night.

He'd slip in quietly, his dark looming figure, clad in a plain soft t-shirt and baggy pajama pants. His hair mussed like mine, proving he'd been lying in his bed prior to coming here. Just _waiting_, until it'd be time—until he decided it was _time _for him to leave.

And to think—I had instigated this.

But he followed through with it.

I didn't regret it though.

I didn't regret it at all when I'd feel him wrap his arms around my waist and pulled me close into his hard chest.

I didn't regret it, cause there was a natural sort of feeling of comfort and relaxation when we'd wake up at around 4:00 everyday, and in the dull bare-sunrise, find that our limbs had tangled up in eachother during the night.

Laying on our sides and facing one another, he would be sometimes hugging my lower abdomen to his face. How he got there, I don't know, embraced so closely and tightly as we shuffled around together in the night.

At times like that, I'd look down to see black hair and the weight of his head around my elbows in the dark of the morning sunrise. I'd observe his nose pressing into the bare skin of my stomach, his wet lips slow centimeters away from touching cloth beneath my waistband, behind which secure things hid. I could never get over the look on his face though: his eyes closed, pressing his face deep into the nude skin of my abdomen that my sleeping shirt exposed as he rode up it: oblivious, peaceful, _quiet,_ with nothing seeming to be on his mind. Hugging me to himself was natural. He did without self-awareness, with his eyes closed, when in his deep sleep.

We reveled in feeling of being with eachother, and it was all the more intense a craving, now that we only had a few hours in the middle of the night. He held me closer now, tighter to him, more directly, with fewer inhibitions. He'd be reveling in it when he'd come in here late, after lying awake without me for a few hours, before leaving in the early hours of the morning again.

I guess it was cause we knew we werent allowed to do this anymore. Thats why we had lost our resolve—that this wasn't just a conveniance—that it wasn't just natural; it wasn't anymore. We wanted it.

We were with eachother at our _worst_: hair mussed, eyes coated with the disgusting remnants of, lightly layered sweat-soaking skin, morning breath, greasy scalps and hair; In the dim hours of the morning, my bristly hairy legs on his own, and he didn't care, cause thats how we liked it the best. We just got used to it—from respectable distances, to odd counterfeights, to sheer uncaringness now. It was strange but true, but the pure, sheer, disregard of the minute small details in our relationship was beauty. We were at eachother during _our worsts,_ and no cares in the world.

Isn't that what siblings do?--show eachother's worsts?

It didnt matter if I revealed too much skin or if he breathed on me in the wrong place, such that I'd normally be annoyed by. I didn't care. Neither did he. Nothing seemed to phase him anyway, so he didn't care that I was a 17 year old girl.

He didn't care that my legs were usually always unshaved and bristly and hairy, or if I didn't use deoderant that day, or if I was wearing a tanktop to bed that day. He was always so unphased.

At first I guess I was just testing him.. but still, he was nonchallant about everything. Like he just didnt care about a thing in the world—or else, really, _really_, didn't mind sleeping next to me.

Sometimes, while he made those moves, and made those motions though.. I'd feel butterflies fly up my stomach, when he'd touch or hug, or carress my body in a certain way.

I can't believe he'd manage to stay so unmoving and nonchallant. It made me mad.

It made me angry. Why should I feel those weird things in my stomach sometimes? Why did he go about doing whatever he pleased, uncaringly, when sometimes it really _wasn't_ so easy to ignore for me? That feeling in your stomach you get when he accidentally moves his arm up your waist and brushes against your nipples.. why does that affect you so? Especially when he's just lying there beside you after having done that—it was obviously by accident, considering how he has now turned away and breathes steadily, obviously completely asleep by now, utterly uncaring, and unaware, the stupid sleepy sloth. Utterly uncaring of the feelings that have been running through your stomaches now.

Stuff like that makes you want to shove his arm off you, get off your bed, and.. and what? You don't know what.. It just makes you impatient somehow.. but what else do you do with yourself other than be angry? All you know is that you dont like those feelings—that fact that he makes you feel them _so_ often and _so_ easily, and _so by accident, _whereas he always seems to uncare because he doesnt know.

He didn't have a care in the world, already having half been to sleep, eyes peacefully closed, in a far-away state. So while he was asleep like that, sometimes I couldn't help but stay up late, my eyes shut tight, steadily enjoying the feelings of the feelings of his friction on the fingerpads rubbing against my waist—he'd be dead asleep, carressing me absentmindedly in the middle of soft steady, relaxed breaths which fell against my skin reassuringly. First, usually it was ontop of cloth. He'd usually stay away from any areas of skin that had been exposed by the riding up of my shirt.

But nowadays, ever since when we'd started to do this late at night, he didn't care. He rubbed circles around on my skin, my bare skin, precisely; definitively, a barrier disregarded and ignored. He didn't mind or care anymore, and neither did I, I think, since it felt okay.. in some respect. I suppose the only reason I kept on letting him do that was because of the knowledge that I knew he was asleep all this time—not doing this consciously, to elicit a vaguely sexist reaction out of me, but doing out of instinct, naturally. Therefore, I was feeling these things out of instinct, naturally. He had no ill-intentions involved in this relation. It wasn't too invasive the way he did it, and afterall, he was a sibling. My own brother. He could touch me in this way. It would mean nothing.

Nowadays though, silly enough, but it seemed like he _searched_ for exposed skin on my body to touch too. Because I think he realized it felt better that way—to both of us. We were getting closer, and perhaps it was that narcotic obsession that we no longer called it—perhaps in both of our minds, it was now referred to as.. our 'limited' time.

He was always doing it absentmindedly while he was asleep, that I had to revel, wonder in how he _naturally _made me feel just _so_ good. He wasnt even aware of it, yet I'd stay up late shivering, something weird feeling like it was hanging down from the pit of the middle of my stomach, as he did it. Thats why I liked it best.. it was so _natural_. He did it in _sleep_. He didn't _mean _to make me all flustered or anything, and couldn't _watch_ me get all flustered or anything. It was a moment just for me—all by myself.

Natural, soughtless, but there. Existential.

I reveled in the feeling of sleeping with Fang, because it consistently felt like there was nothing between us, no excessive efforts entitled, and nothing but a natural illusion of confidance and reliance—the feeling of "going with the flow."

We were codependant, on eachother.

Around four was when he or I would naturally wake up first, so either I could get him up to leave before mom came in, or he could leave himself. The first day, it was him who had woken himself up, but the second, it had been me. I had liked waking up early and seeing him on me, sleeping blissfully.

Unfortunately these days, next to being the first to wake, I was also the last to sleep. His lingering fingers—not wandering, but _touching—normally, casually, _would send block-like diamonds shoot up my abdomen these days—especially when he was on my skin, which he'd been doing these past few days. It was weird. It didn't happen before.

I'd revel in the pause, the haunted, ghost of a feeling, and find myself not being able to fall asleep, his deep steady breath on my skin.

And it'd only been two days since he'd begun doing that, since we'd begun seeing sleeping together late at night, but for some reason.. it felt like ages.

It felt like I couldn't be able to survive if he didn't do it every day from now on.. sleep next to me every day from now on.

And it felt like Fang had been acting different around me now—at home, in front of the others—just quieter than before. Didn't speak back as much, exactly, or talk much. It was almost as if he didnt want to talk to me in front of my parents or our family at all. In fact, he didn't even talk to anyone—not even Ella. He spoke to Iggy though, as far as I knew.

I would've been mad and surprised about the sudden coldness and distancy (he wasn't even irritating anymore, like he used to be), but the fact that he came at night and did those things to me.. it reestablished our closeness. So it didn't matter that he didn't speak to me in real life—not so as much glance at me—cause I knew he didn't hate me, cause he kept on coming at night.

He was more quiet and soft-spoken around me when our parents were around now. Only spoke when spoken to, or some few soft good-natured comments. He didn't even look at me anymore—the scary looks I mean—the looks that had made me stop once and shiver once, before I soon got over it. It was _Fang,_ afterall. He was still the same though, his aura, his position, in essence.

It'd be stupid of me to see anything as significantly complex. Simple was how it was best. That defined our relationship.

Maybe he was just uptight or something since school would be starting tomorrow.

* * *

Wait, _tomorrow_?! I realized, while dressing myself.

The time sure flew by. The summer ended in a snap: The yogurt shop, Fang coming, the not-speaking to Iggy, Jeb's party, hanging out with Nudge, Mom on her seminar, and... Iggy's "date"-thing. That one was recent development.

I blushed as I thought about Iggy.. which led me to my current state.

I was getting dressed. Why was I getting dressed? I hadn't had any plans today.

I don't usually get dressed.

I usually walk around the house like a bum cause its usually just Ella, Mom and Fang around. I no longer cared what Fang thought of me, since he didn't give much thought about my modesty either. I was his _sister _after all. I walked around the house like a bum, and I slept with him at night. He outta be used to it by now.

But I had been trudging down the steps this morning when I strangely heard two male voices resounding from our small living room.

Alarmed, I had peeked down to see that Iggy and Fang were hanging out in the living room. Hearing the steps, but only my feet visible on the steps, Iggy called out my name, but I had run back upstairs to my room in a flash. My heart had been pounding my heart at the sound of his voice down there and I frantically realized I needed to get dressed to be in front of Iggy.. afterall, well, actually I didn't know. I didn't want to be embarressed in front of him. He and I had boundaries.. I needed to look presentable in front of him.. not _half-dressed._

It was strange, but I never gave a shit how I looked in front of him back when we were just best friends.. our new, undefined, relationship.. seemed to have a lot of bounds to it.. and nervousness.. it was so unlike our relationship with Fang..

Dressed, I finally went downstairs, peeking a glance at the clock while I was at it.

It was 9, which meant.. breakfast? I went downstairs expecting Iggy to have gravitated towards the kitchen with Fang by now.

But to my great surprise, Iggy was right in front of me, lounging on a couch. When I took the last step off the stairs, I startingly noticed him there, he looked up to me brightly and threw me one of his signature large grins. He smiled ecstatedly towards me, and nervously I grinned back.

"Fang told me our date sounded like it went well yesterday," Iggy said with a grin at me. I stopped, stood still, and frowned.. It was sudden, and awkward.

"I hope you had fun.. even if I didn't tell you it was one..." he continued to say, seeming to grow increasingly and increasingly more nervous and hesitant, "I meant it for one... I was sorta hoping it _would _be one.."

So..

So.. now what?

Thanks, Iggy, for making things tremendously awkward.

I felt like rolling my eyes and smacking his head. That was so unnecessary..

But.. at least I know exactly how Iggy felt about me now.. He had wanted to go out on a date with me. I bet Fang had pressured Iggy into telling me more about it though, even though at the moment he thought we were already a couple. Knowing Fang, I bet he did it tactfully too. Awkward in some sense. I felt like being mad at Fang for doing this, but on the other hand, he helped me out. I should be thankful.

Nudge says its probably just cause of the honeymoon period, but Iggy made my heart flutter and nervous. So much that I was even making the effort to look proper for him right now.

Suddenly he walked forward. His arms were long when he slung them around my shoulders from his stature. His neck was long too, when he'd turn to bend down to place a kiss on the corner of my lips.

Whoops. Well that was a surprise. It only took a second though.

I'd seen Iggy make out with his previous girlfriends (he could be one of those annoying jerkasses, who wouldnt let you get to your locker cause he was busy making out with his girlfriend in front of it). This wasn't it though. It was a quick peck.. and I hadn't seen it coming. I'd turned my head a little bit, so the kiss landed on the corner rather than in the middle.

I blinked twice, surprised, and looked up to him. He started grinning embarressedly and rubbing the back of his head.

"Uh.. Lets go make some breakfast," he suggested with a smile, and I followed behind him to my own kitchen, where he did most of the cooking anyway.

Once I had reached there, I noticed he'd whipped out eggs for pancake batter in about 2 seconds, and then he turned around and looked up at me while in the middle of his work. I'd been watching him admiringly for the past three seconds, never failed to be amazed by the adeptivity in which he worked.. he was so quick.

It was quiet for a moment longer. Really awkward quietness, where neither of us knew what to say. It was pretty horrible in the matter of fact, actually.

I was staring intently at the fast work of his quick, experienced hands when he suddenly looked up at me and grinned mischievously. (Somehow it seemed that nearly everything he said to me nowadays had a deeper meaning in it.. may it seem mischievous or not).

"You wanna help me?" he suddenly asked, grinning. Iggy knew how to fix things.. the awkwardness.

But I gave him an incredulous, horrified look, surprised at the sudden offer. Usually, he'd be the one giving me those horrible looks when I'd offer to help.

Now though, he just kept on grinning at me, unfazed. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Maybe his confession was making him a little bit wonky.

"I'm watching, so you won't do anything wrong, don't worry" he reassured, turning his head with a wink.

I was wondering what he had up his sleeve, and got up off my school to walk around the counter to his side.

He faced me when I had come around. He then picked up the bowl of batter with two hands and turned around to place it beside on the counter beside the stove, below the curtained kitchen windows. I watched him carefully, as he beckoned me towards him.

Arranging my hands, he stood behind me, and helped me pour the batter on.

His tall height behind me engulfed me.. and it felt _interesting_, to feel smaller than someone else, so near him, looming over me.

In bed, it never felt that way with Fang, since we were lying down and shuffling up and down all the time. The height difference was never really that noticeable between him I considering the situations of our close proximity. We were never _ever_ in close proximity of each other outside of bed either, so I'd never felt the height difference.. except for maybe, perhaps in the kiddie tunnel that time ages ago, after Jeb's cocktail party.

I felt Iggy's breath on my skin as I tried hard to focus on pouring the batter down in correct circles, but it was distracting me. He had dropped his head down into my throat, and I felt his eyelashes move down, signaling closed eyes as he dug his face deep into my neck from behind my back.

"I like you a lot, Max" he said from there. I blushed thoroughly but instead tried to focus and concentrate on pouring the batter.

"More than I can ever explain"

"Me too" I replied quietly, shyly, I hate to admit. But I felt him smile against my skin on the back of neck, which in turn made me smile as well. He was happy—so was I.

I craned my neck to the side to give him more room as he took a deep breath from me and of my skin, and I'd realized his hands were no longer on my own to handle the batter, but were now leaning against the stove top on either sides of me, creating a semi-circle inside which I was trapped. I felt claustrophobic and wierdly uncomfortable with this situation though, until he got to work. Quietly, instinctively as I felt him suck another breath from my neck with concentration, his eyes closed. He was reveling in the soft moment, which made me laugh a little bit—cause it was ticklish.

The batter was finished being poured, so I stood there batter spoon and bowl in respective hands, his arms around me, feeling him around my neck, and continued to let him do what he wanted. It felt okay, I guessed.

And afterall.. he liked me.. and I liked him too, even though I hadn't exactly said it outloudly as profoundly as he had...

Iggy noticed the bowl was done.

"Mmmm," Iggy hummed, "See? _Perfect," _he praised my ear eagerly but absentmindedly, seeming to be preoccupied with senses other than speaking.

Curiously enough, the way in which he said it, made funny shivers run up my arms.

He kissed a spot on my chin behind me, congratulating me on the accomplishment, which I let him do. And then he started kissing me everywhere he could from his reach behind me—my neck, the side of my face, my jaw, behind my ears—feverously and funnily. I started laughing silently as he did so enthusiastically, mostly cause it was fun, and he was so eager, the spoon and bowl still dangling in my hands.

His eyes still closed and his mouth focused on kissing me everywhere he could whilst grinning into the them. He then maneuvered his hands in front of my waist to turn the stove light down whilst still kissing me all over (he could multitask.. I realized couldn't;). I hadn't noticed this while he'd been doing it—too preoccupied in his languish carresses—but now I realized that turning the stove down was not only a safety precaution, but also a method to waste time. In low heat, the pancakes would cook slower and give him more time to go slower.

This was a new experience.. I'd never had anyone.. _kiss_ those parts of me like that. In fact, I've never had anyone kiss me, period, until Iggy had done so a while ago.

When Iggy got something in his head.. he sure _got it _in his head. I sighed breathlessly as he continued kissing, and barely even noticed that he'd been maneuvering us to the side, away from the stove, while breathlessly chuckling and placing more kisses on me.

He chuckled at my reactions and went down to place even more down on my neck and jaw, his head digging below my jaw from behind me, as he kissed languidly all over my collarbones. His front was against my back, and once he had removed us from the stove to be in front of a normal flat kitchen counter, he had gotten more aggressive, but I was enjoying it.

I was laughing in the midst of his chuckles and breathless wet mops along my collarbone.

Once we had gotten away from the stove, his hands locked and pressed tighter on the counter on either side of me, as his back pressed closer into me, leaning more into the counter.

I realized, that from that standpoint—him behind me, and leaning his head over my shoulder to engulf me—he'd definitely be able to get a serious and thorough window view of the cleavage inside my loose tee. But I put it aside, too preoccupied by all the kissing he was doing, and decided it didn't even matter. We were probably together now.. weren't we? If anyone would be allowed to see something or stuff like that, it'd be _him_, right?

I knew him since I was 7, and we've known eachother well for forever. There was no mistake Iggy had libido.

With one hand on the counter, propping himself up, he lifted the other one off to wrap it around my waist protectively. I was struck, once again, by how _long_ his arms were, around me.

I leaned back and let him drop kisses all over from behind me, as I felt him move up against me, maneuvering his body around me, trying get to new spots and areas. My eyes were wide open and surprised, as I let him do whatever, enjoying feeling the new sensations on my jawline and neck. We were facing the same direction, my abdomen leaning the countertop, and his hips pushing against mine. I opened my mouth silently in near surprise, as he continued to hungrily kiss me all over and move up and down around me, pushing in from behind me slightly, rocking in and out, maneuvering.

"What're you _doing?"_

Iggy and I quickly removed ourselves from each another and turned to see Fang standing by the doorway, his eyes dark and his face expressionless.

Like lightening, as quick as that, Fang came over from the entranceway, and grabbed my wrist.

It happened so fast, I didn't know what was happening. I helplessly got pulled out by Fang, following him out of the kitchen. His back to me, without exchanging glances _once, _he brought me up to the second floor. At the top of the staircase we stopped. He had brought me past the dining space, through the living room, and up the stairs. We were now in the small corridor leading to the bedrooms of his, mine, Ella's, Jeb's office, and one small bathroom.

He stopped there.

Let go out my hand once we reached the small spanse of the hallway, but still didn't look at me. My face was to his back, which was a black jacket for the fall.

I was feeling pretty confused.

All of this had happened fast. First, Iggy kissing me all over, then Fang finding us, and angrily dragging me away. Facing his back in the small hallway, I looked at him confusedly and unsuredly. Fang wasn't the impulsive, stupid type. What did he have to say?

He turned around to face me, his eyes still having something unreadable written on it. We were still in the small corridor. He looked at me for the first moment in a while, before lifting his hand up and fisting it against the wall right beside the stairs.

I suddenly found myself on the other side of his arm, looking up to his face. He was so much taller than me from this perspective.

It was quiet, and he was saying nothing, but he seemed tense, as if he didnt know what he was supposed to say next. I waited silently, looking up to him.

He seemed as if he was regretting this. Regretting what, though?

Suddenly, his face turned down to look at my own directly. I was level with his chin, his raised arm and fist directly to the right of my head. He finally seemed to show some emotion on his face, as he asked the question again.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing?" he pointedly asked, his breath coming out through his teeth.

Uh, he was _kissing_ me, Fang. Duh.

But his voice was deep, dark, dank, and low, and he didn't give me time to answer, instead launching into a series of drawn-out interrogations.

"_Did you _like _that?_ _Letting him _freaking _grind against you_?" he continued consecutively, looking me straight in the eye and still speaking sallowly through his teeth.

His eye seemed to be throwing daggers at my own, right into my own.

I was getting angry—what was he saying?—Iggy hadn't been _freaking grinding against_ me_—_I would've _definitely_ freaking noticed if he had—he had just been _kissing_ me, God, _seriously, _was that _such_ a crime? I nearly shouted back in shock, but Fang cut me off cause he got rapidly closer and closer to my face.

He bent his head down to me closer and I grew quieter. His breath was on my skin in the way its never been while we were awake. I saw his eyes glare at me clearly.

"Did you like that? _Grinding against_ you_. _Letting him _feel _you like that—" he said, every sentence and syllable punctuated into my ear. "How was it? ...Did you enjoy it?" he tortured me, close to my face, his breath going right into my ear, while I was trapped against the wall and his fist. An endless stream of slow passionately sounding questions were coming from his mouth.

"Was it good? Did you _like_ it? Fucking letting him _do_ that to you—you freaking ho-_" _

He closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed as he got closer to my face so that we were just few millimeters apart. He had cut himself off.

My eyes wide open, I stared back, unable to speak. Was he just about to call me a.. whore? No, he didn't though—he had cut himself off—I didn't think I'd be able to _stand_ it if _Fang_ called me something like that.. especially because of all those feelings I felt at night.

But then he opened his eyes again. Suddenly,

"Did you _like that?_" he asked once again angrily, before he swooped in suddenly, place his cold, angry, harsh lips on my mouth.

He made out with me angrily, plenty of breaths in between the lips touching, but over and over again, angry, before he finally released himself.

I'd never made out with anyone before. I'd never even properly kissed anyone before.

Breathing hard.. we were both breathing hard..

He knew it. He knew I'd never made out with anybody before.

He looked away.

His arms still raised over the side of my head, blocking me against the wall, he looked away.

Did it just hit him _that _instant? That he finally realized that that was my first time? That stupid idiot.

But I was staring up at him in sheer shock and surprise. I was breathing hard from his kiss. It'd been angry, passionate, ferverous. There was something, something distinctly.. distinctly _Fang_ about it, in it. I wondered if all kisses were like that, or if it was just Fang's. It was hard to explain. It was just.. so.. _him_. It had been quiet, but _heavy. Intense, _but passionate.

Angry.

It had been completely, utterly exhilarating. Something like a stress-reliever for him. He was soft-spoken, but _hard. _That was what the kiss was like—_him._ There was something so _Fang_ about it.

He _was_ passive-aggressive, just like the kiss has been in my memory. It had been so_ soft_, but so _hard._

It was _intoxicating_.

Somehow.. _somehow_... _I wanted _more.

It was still and quiet for a moment longer, as I reveled in the realization.

There was the sound of me breathing hard, and it seemed like that was all that was going through our eardrums. I stared up at him wonderingly; questioningly and expectingly, but he didn't bother to say anything. He was looking away, his arms now by his sides, still, and quiet, but I still hadn't left.

I could tell he what he wanted to do though.

He wanted to ask me to _shut up._

He wanted to tell me to stop freaking breathing.

I could tell he was hating it..hating hearing the sound of me breathless and breathing.

The fact that he had made it that way.

He was hating it. He hated hearing the sound of me breathing.

He couldn't ask me to, though. He wouldn't have the nerve to, it would've been low for him to, cause he was the one who had made it that way.

He wanted to deny he was the one who had caused it, but he couldnt. So he wished I would just stop breathing. So he could stop being reminded of that.

_He _was the who had pumped my heart up to accelerate a few beats.

_He hated that_—_he hated knowing he _was the one who had done it to me.

_I _hated_ his thoughts._

* * *

After a while of the angsty thoughts and feelings, he let go of his fist on the wall and then turned around, calm.

His back was facing me now, but he was relaxed, though still refusing to look me in the face. He was calm now, though.. unlike before he had kissed me..

I looked at his back beseechingly, trying to get ahold of _myself_. What had just happened here?

He was ignoring it.. like he always does.

..But at this point.. he seemed as if he.. _enjoyed _it. Knowing that had done this to me.

It made me angry to possibly believe that there was a certain type of defiant, counterfeit _smugness_ in his disregard for all his stupid action.

"You can go now," he informed casually.. as if giving me permission.

Who is _he _to give me _permission_ to do things? Now I was getting thoroughly pissed off.. you dont give me permission to do something..

It was as if he had just done that.. and now had no problem with me going back down to Iggy now.

* * *

Five minutes later, Fang joined us at the table.

We turned to see an apathetic Fang, turning to make his way to a seat by the large counter. He seemed to be completely ignoring any significant presence of ours. I could tell Iggy was on edge though—scared.

"Is breakfast ready?" Fang asked casually once he'd sat down on a stool and turned to face us.

Iggy and I exchanged worried looks.. Fang was weird.. and moody.. and neither of us got him yet either.. He was scary. Now he was being all good-natured and nice and normal and casual.. but before, that had been scary, when he'd grabbed my wrist away from Iggy and all.

And now here he was, pretending that had never happened? No animosity at all towards Iggy?

I knew Fang could go around completely soundless.. so he'd made noise to walk in purposely. I was relieved, but angry too. Creep, I couldn't help but think. Though I was embarrassed in and of itself, being caught like that, though there wasn't any _actual_ problem with it, now was there? Fang _thought_ Iggy and I were boyfriend and girlfriend anyway.

But why did Fang make me feel.. embarrassedto be seen like that? I don't know. But I was just embarrassed.

After Fang upstairs, I sort of felt grossed out at what Iggy and I had been doing.. had he really been _grinding_ me? I was just too thrilled and overcome in the new feelings to notice.

Iggy, his face red and fearful and worried of his best friend, turned and started nervously chuckling. He rubbed the back of his head and smiled widely at Fang.

"Yeah, I'd been showing Max how to make pancakes," Iggy said slowly and nervously, grinning at his best friend.

Fang gave him an expressionless look, which on most other people, might be shown as a slight glare.

With a huge grin on his face, Iggy moved his hand to gesture to the stove where 12 pancakes were sitting, crisped to the perfectest shade of brown.

Fang shook his head to himself, like he did usually, to most of Iggy's comments.

"Hope you had good luck with that," Fang replied humourously towards Iggy.

The good-natured, normal, casual comment startled me. Fang was perfectly casual.

Like what'd happened upstairs had never.. happened. Like he _hadn't_ just gotten mad at me over Iggy's kissing me.

I stared at him pointedly, curiously.

Somehow.. I craved something more..

It was intoxicating.

* * *

_**Author's Note!**_

Sorry for the long delay_ this story is back on track_k :)

Comment, review if you liked it!!

I am motivated to write now!! Hopefully it gets better too!! I hope all my fans are happy now! :D

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	20. What's the Status Quo?

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in_ _nature,_ _and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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**_Thanks alot to my dedicated readers for being.. well.. dedicated, even if I've been slow at updating!_**

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**Chapter Nineteen: The Status Quo**

I guess it never happened.

I mean, thats what it felt like.

Its like he just messed up—_once—_that day, kissing me,—he just didn't know what he was thinking—cause that was just it. Cause he was normal the night after, the day after. He was acting just fine.

Waking up early and eating breakfast with us in the morning, Fang quietly watched as Mom and Ella and I scurried around in a rush around the kitchen counter—busy for the first day of school, after two point five months away from the school life.

Between Fang and I, it wasn't hard.

It was pretty easy, pretty casual. We just sort of both ignored it. I was guessing he made sure to make it completely clear to me that it was a mistake. He didn't act anyway weird, strange, or abnormal afterwards.

I don't know whether I was slightly disappointed.. I didn't dare to think about anything like that—he was my _brother_ after all. There was no deeper meaning to it. It was a mistake—and it was _fine_ the way he was going about it, too—casual ignorance.

Though it sort of did irk me _how_ casual he was going about it though.. like he went about kissing girls all the time and it was no big deal if he did it to me once cause he does it all the time. It made me wonder _how_ casual that sort of thing was for him. It made me wonder what type of guy he was in school.. even before he moved here?

It sort of made me bothered cause.. on high school levels, he would've be in a different tier than me. A tier I couldn't even reach, someone that the friends of the friends of the friends of the friends of the people in my 'crowd' didn't even reach, maybe. Afterall, I didn't go out and party. I didn't hook up with random guys all the time. None of my friends did either. We weren't party-goers. I wouldn't even know where they'd be or who'd be throwing them.

What bothered me the most though about Fang.. is that I felt a lot more like the younger sibling than the older one, with the way he handled things usually these days.. Afterall, recently, I was the one confused, flustered, pulled around, being taught things, pushed gently in the different directions. He was the one pulling, pushing, tugging me in all the directions. But anyway, that was just on the back of my mind.

As for Fang, if anything, he was a lot more normal than before. The prior week, he'd been acting strangely taciturn towards me when we were in front of Mom. Now he was back to the stage when Ella had first come back from camp—he spoke to me politely yet obnoxiously now, all the time, in front of Mom too, like it had been before. It was all normal.

So, I didn't think much of it.. just put it sort of out of my mind. I didn't really want to think too hard about it, or my feelings on it.

Afterall, your brother gave you your first kiss, a _deep _kiss, (alot of them actually, if you considered what he had been doing—taking breaths before going back to my mouth over and over again—but lets not get into that), _that_ was just.. sorta confusing.

You wanted to look past it.

It was just a mistake, that was all. Besides, he was acting normal around me now. He wasn't acting like it didn't happen.. he was just acting like it didn't _matter_.

I don't even think he was acting, actually.

But all that was out of my mind for now.

At the moment, I was waiting impatiently for Iggy come through the sliding doors in the kitchen.. tapping my fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter. Ella watched me curiously, adorned in a purple jansport backpack, while eating jam buttered on some toast. Mom was rushing around looking for her keys, while my face was growing increasingly, and increasingly more agitated as I glared at the sliding doors. I was beginning to growl, actually. That backyard didn't know what was coming at it.

Fang turned, glanced at me glaring at the clear plastic sliding doors hard enough to set them on fire, before talking. It was as if he _finally _just realized why I was getting angry.

"Iggy planned to go there early; 'wanted to play basketball with some guys he wanted to catch up with before getting his schedule" he conveniently mentioned.

I quickly snapped my head to redirect the same glare towards him. _You couldn't've reminded me of that _earlier_? Really, Fang??_

I sighed, dropping my head. I wasn't sure if Iggy and I were in a legit relationship yet, but he might as well have had the decency to remind me that he wasn't picking me up to walk to school together. I guess I sort of just _imagined_ things would go back to early sophomore year, back when we were still best friends and walked to school together everyday.

_If_ I was his girlfriend, he might have the decency to inform me too! I growled some more, before Ella took a big gulp before beginning to speak to me.

"Max... aren't we going to be late?" she asked nervously. I turned to look at her before sighing again.

She was anxious to start ninth grade.

I had half a mind to tell her that freshman are easily recognizable due to their large, oversized backpacks, and that she'd get picked on, but decided itd be too cruel. Afterall, not all freshmen get picked on, and who knows—she might start bursting into tears in embarrassment..

Fang took his time in observing the pitiful look I was giving her. He followed my trail of vision to see what I was eyeing—that purple backpack filled with all that stuff she didn't need—afterall, why would she need a _500 _page pack of looseleaf on the first day of school? A binder? Three notebooks? A _pencil-case_?! Fifty _well-_sharpened #2 pencils?!!!

"Ella, ditch the backpack" he suggested. Ella squeaked in shock, turning to him while practically quivering in anticipation.

"Why?" she all but begged, taken-aback by his comment.

"You look small enough as it is.. the backpack doesn't help overcome your natural, inherent freshman dorkload," he replied.

She immediately let out a cry of intense shock and sudden realization and took off her backpack, before tugging all her school supplies out hurriedly and putting them on top of the kitchen counter. I all but chuckled, watching her amusedly. She really cared about what Fang thought—at least, _trusted_ him. Fang and I watched her amusingly. There was something cute about it—how worried she was about high school. We exchanged glances as Ella frantically rechecked her lighter backpack, and smiled. (Well, let me amend that: _I_ smiled, he did some weird smirk-smile mixture. Wierdo).

On some level though, I could tell Fang was just as nervous about starting school. He was new to John Browning too, afterall. Though he knew the obvious guidelines—aka what makes freshman dorky—that was universal high school knowledge, coming from an upperclassmen.

There was still the untouched concept of coming into a suburban high school in junior year, where everyone probably most likely already knew everyone else, already had their circles and their groups. It didn't help that he came from Massachusetts too, which was practically a quarter of the way across the world from California. Customs, traditions, what kids do, how they act, what they like, what they think is cool or uncool, might just be completely different there from here. He would know nothing, socially. Maybe, I guess.

Who knew. This could be an experiment in the making—does coolness outlast any geographical boundaries?

Sure, he knew what makes a freshmen dorky—he'd been a freshman before, and a sophomore too for that matter—but he had no experience in how to impress a bunch of suburban L.A. Kids. I glanced at him worriedly before grabbing my bag off the table and swinging it over my shoulder, before calling a bye out behind me and beckoning Ella forward.

"Oh, okay! Bye Fang!!" she bid him excitedly before turning around to leave.

At the last second, almost as if she had nearly forgotten and regretted it, she squeaked and turned back, before landing a quick bear hug on him while he was still sitting on the stool.

Looking slightly shocked as she pulled back to wave/smile at him, he shook his head with a light grin.

"And thanks for telling me to lighten my backpack!" she added as a sidenote.

"Haha," he laughed "No problem, Ella, have fun at school.. be outgoing and make friends.. and don't let any older guys pick you out of the crowd" he warned. In admiration of the scene in front me, I suddenly realized I'd never heard him laugh in such a way before.

Fang had told me before of this old odd tradition that had been in his past highschool. We'd been laughing over Ella's overeagerness about starting school the other day and been hanging out in the living room, waiting for Iggy to arrive, while passing around a bag of Lays' potato chips. Apparently it was a custom for the juniors in his old school to pick out freshmen from the crowd—girls—whom they'd dub as "freshman hotties."

He went on to describe how the guys would invite the girls to all the upperclassmen parties in the beginning of the year. If they'd last, they'd be well known and reputable in their grade by the end of the year. By their sophomore year, they'd be well-known for all the senior guys they knew. These girls would be the bitches who'd be in charge of ruling the school, and be throwing the best parties in the future. It didnt change the fact that guys shit their pants to be juniors, just to have the chance to select young unsuspecting freshman out and mess with them. It was socially accepted too—and _expected—_for junior guys to have new little freshman girlfriends in the fall of every year. That was how it went—the new and unsuspecting freshman would fall right for the bait, unexperienced and eager to please upperclassmen.

I listened to the story Fang told with sheer disgust, and the way he was saying it too—was with disgust. He seemed to be sickened by this tradition of the juniors in his school, so it made me feel sure he'd never be one of those guys to do one of those things and pick out a freshman girlfriend.

It made me completely blank and erase all those fears of Fang being a scary womanizer/party-goer, when I listened to him giving Ella those warnings and small pieces of advice.

It was.. it was so good-hearted to the ear. As if he was genuinely surprised and appreciative of the hug. The scene was.. (I'm not usually so sappy) but, _cute_. It was nice to watch and look at. Ella really sincerely liked Fang, and he liked her back. Almost made me feel guilty for having such a crappy relationship with him.

(Well, it was crappy initially, but then it got better). _So_ better, in fact, that it turned sort of strange.. it was so strange that he'd even had the nerve to kiss me out of it.

Maybe that was the killer turning point—that we'd realized how strange it'd gotten—so maybe the kiss was just a big message signal. We turned things back to normal once we realized how out of place and odd and not-subtle that kiss was.. and now we were normal. The strangeness had just escalated out of control, and we didn't realize it until that kiss had smacked us on our faces. And now.. now, everything was normal.

The kiss was forgotten—at least from his mind, at least.. It seemed like it, from him.

It was my first, although I can't really consider it a _kiss-_kiss, considering it came from him, my brother.

I don't think he _ever _considered it an existential kiss either. That probably explained why he was so pissed at my breathing so hard that day right afterwards.

Makes sense.

Afterall.. he has probably kissed many girls in his lifespan of a being a teenager thus far. It must be very normal, casual, of him, to kiss girls. Maybe he blanked for a second and didn't realize I was, y'know, _Max_-Max. So he just kissed me. At least, thats what it felt like, what seemed to be radiating off of him, all of the rest of the evening and night last night. That it was nothing. An accident. I was back to where I initially started now—in this train of thought.

So, it was nothing. I was alright with that.. though still—it _was_ my first kiss.

"_Max_!" Ella turned, bringing me back to my attention.

"What!" I screeched, suddenly surprised. I had been immersed in my thoughts. Completely inundated, as we had been walking along.

"What's wrong with you—are you thinking?" she asked. We were walking on the sidewalk, beside neat houses sitting on neatly trimmed lawns, the sidewalk pathway to John Browning California State High School. From our house, it was a 25-30 minute stroll, but it was a pleasant one, with the nice scenery of the creepy perfect houses in our neighborhood. It was 15 minutes though, if you jogged.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about Fang."

Ella paused for a second.

"What were you thinking?" she asked quietly and slowly. I turned back to give her a strange look—she had sounded very cautious.. just _too_ strange for actual comfort.

"Nothing, just some stuff. He's gonna start school tomorrow, right?" I replied quickly.

"Umm.. I think so.." she said, thinking hard to her memories of what Mom had mentioned at dinner last night. She put her hand on her chin.

"Actually, I think he's starting after that," she replied, "Tomorrow he's coming into school for some tests or something, to see what classes he's supposed to get put in, cause Massachusett's school system is really different from California's, so it doesn't coordinate at all, and then he'll start actual school—classes—the day after" she recalled, "Well, actually.. Monday, right? 'Cause today's a Thursday."

"Lucky him" I replied boringly, "He gets the weekend, and two less days of work."

Fang had dreaded coming back to school, and been utterly livid (though quiet and not ostentatious about it) when he realized school started so early in California, overhearing a conversation I'd been having with Iggy about the summer school pranks. Fang had seemed pretty P'O'ed.

"Ella!!" a girl called out. She suddenly turned her head excitedly away from me and waved back at some girl I recognized seeing at our house from her elementary and middle school days.

Ella turned back around and bid me goodbye to me before turning back to catch up with her friend. I watched her go before breathing out a low breath.

By the time you were juniors, people were a lot less enthusiastic about your simple existence. Another school year—another set of chances to push around other kids, [social]climb your way to the top, try to make friends with the right sorts of people, blatantly ignore some select few others. That was high school. _This_ was high school, I thought, as I stared up at the steps leading up to the main entrance. We all had to get our schedules now.

Honestly, by junior year, it was all pretty.. mundane. Especially since our grade only had about 450 kids anyway. Everyone knew one another—or rather, knew their reputations, judging from who you were seen with.

Well, where do I fall in this little niche?

I hung out with most of the athletic kids—I was on three teams each season, which was the max you could be on for each semester. I pretty much stayed to myself I guess.. not insular persay.. but rather, not so interested in social things.

Like, really, who honestly cared about getting with the hottest guy, or hanging out with the shallow bimbos? I was fine where I was, and my friends were pretty fine too.

We were all chill, laid back.

I guess Iggy'd be coming back into the picture these days, although his scene wasn't exactly as _unquestionable _as mine. I lived a comparatively mundane, normal existance at school, but I was fine with it, it was fine and taciturn and innocent. Disinteresting maybe, but at least there wasn't any completely useless drama involved inside. I just did school and that was it.

Iggy on the other hand.. well, he was pretty popular—that was the right and only word for it. But he wasn't popular in the _insular _sense at all. He was the type of guy you would want to talk to just by looking at, but you wouldn't have to, cause he'd approach you first.

Everyone knew him. And everyone liked him.

He wasn't infamous or ostentatious or obnoxious.. that wasn't why he was to popular. He was well-known because he was just generally _popular_. Well-liked. That was the real definition of popular, now wasn't it?

Honestly, popularity is considered subjective. Especially in high school, the use of the term is pretty shallow in many respects. Some people mistake _infamity _for popularity because everyone just _has _to know the names of the people they dislike. (Those would be those bitches and jerks). Other people mistake those with _entertainment value_ for popularity, because after all, everyone has to know the names of people that do enough dumbass things to keep the school amused. (Those would be the attention whores, the girls always bringing the news of the week, the guys you talk about, beit 'cause they hotwired a teacher's car last friday, or cause they slept with a greaseball at last night's party).

But.. _real_ popularity isn't really that. Its not those who pretend theyre on a higher level than you, or those that have entertainment value, or those that have your attention whenever they need or seek it. High schoolers tend to define popularity as 'how many people know your name'? How well-known are you? How often are you talked about?

However, if you ask me.. its pretty easy to get talked about; that doesnt neccesarily make you popular.

Yeah, everyone knows your name, but is that in a good way?

Iggy, however, would be the epitome of the definition of popular; he's just plain well liked—by everybody. Sure there are other guys like him out there, but just in general—he's one of them. He's a popular kid, and he gets along with everyone. Everyone knows him.

He's not self-conscious or too afraid to come up to people. He'll talk to anyone, no matter what they look like, how they act, or how dorky they are. He's just a good-natured person.

I suppose it helps that for all of 9th grade everyone thought he was just _major_ bad-ass material for wearing sunglasses 24/7. No one really knew why he got away with it though, but I guess it helped with his laid-back suave image, cause the teachers (who would normally hate the guts of a kid who refused to take their sunglasses off in class) loved him anyway.

Then again.. nobody really knew that he was _blind_. That was the main reason the teachers let him wear shades indoors; that he showed them permission slips at the beginning of the year each year. I don't think anybody really found out about him being blind until the end of fall in sophomore year. It was in September, that someone had knocked him over when they were playing basketball in gym, and people had glanced at his left eye (which is marginally worse than his right eye, and is usually a lot more glazed over than his right), and then connected it with the fact that he couldn't see his sunglasses on the floor 12 feet away.

It was a major surprise, but it didn't make anyone like him any less. If anything, the pity factor made girls just _swarm_ over him. I don't really know much about him after that, cause we had stopped hanging out shortly afterwards that event—around october or november we'd started to grow apart and stopped walking home/to school together—all I'd heard was that he'd been become quite the ladies man, with a growing track record of girlfriends he'd dumped.

Well yeah. That point is, Iggy wasn't insular at all. He had many friends—in high and low places—hung out with the potheads, dorks, geeks, the losers, loners, even on good terms with the goth kids, extreme respect from all the obnoxious jocks and preps (afterall who could throw hoops that well even after being blind). He just had a good personality. Though, also, he definitely wasn't the most hyped up kid in school (like I said, the majority of the population in high school would consider the jerks, sluts, bitches, and/or dumbasses, as a lot more 'popular' material because they so direly lack the definition of the real word, as well as perhaps the judgement associated with it's understanding).

Anyway, thats the story behind Iggs.

As for me, I dunno how well people know me, except for the fact, that maybe I'm super athletic. My pictures are often featured on the school newspapers for that type of stuff too (I once got a two-page centerfold of myself on soccer). People probly only know me well on those terms. My face is recognizable, and they know me, but they probably haven't ever spoken to me.

I'm pretty pleasant to get along with though. I wouldn't shun anyone who came up to me and tried to make small talk with me. I guess I'm on pretty good terms with nearly everybody who had tried to speak to me—except for maybe that disgusting jock, some guy named Sam who couldn't over the fact that I dumped him in the 8th grade.

So, I walked into the steps of school with a deep breath of acceptance. Summer was over. _Joy_. Back to school now—back to my normal, regular life. Afterall, I was just a _normal_, _regular_, suburban teenage girl.

Its not like I could even say there was anything special about my appearance. I had _normal_, regular, straw-like brown-color hair. The few highlights that I had there were just washed out and sun-bleached , products of too much sun exposure. I was lightly tanned, like most californians are, but it wasn't a tanning-bed orange-type of tan. It was also from sports and hanging out in the sun too much—what can I say? I'm an athletic kid. It was a permanent tan. I guess I was light muscled, biceps, triceps, pretty toned stomach, but then again, like I said, I'm an athletic kid, so that isn't saying much.

I didn't have a killer body, but I didn't mind. I looked like just an average teenager growing up. Thank god I was finally out that awkward teenage puberfied stage though. It cringed me to think and remember what I looked like back then—_so dorky_ and _awkward_.

But this was a new year.. a new start.

Eh.. not really. I still had the same friends. With a smile, I noted Nudge's side profile, glancing down at a piece of paper and looking up to match the number to the locker plate.

"Hey Nudge" I said as I neared her. She turned her head before she shrieked a little bit and brought her hands up to hug me around my neck and head.

"Max!! It's been ages!!"

It hadn't been ages—I had seen her last week.

"Yeah" I laughed, "So what'd you get for classes this year?"

"Oh, AP Psych, AP Bio, Latin 10, Spanish II, European History III, annd ugh—Cleveir's English" she groaned at the last bit.

"Wow, your classes sound good, 'cept for the last one of course"

"Yeah, I know, our class last year with her was so dreadful! She so totally can't teach!! But, like, anyway, thats obvious—what'd you get?"

"Oh, dunno yet, haven't stopped by the main attendance office yet—thought I'd go glance in around some rooms to see if my sister had found her homeroom yet," I replied, noticing exactly how late I was.

"Oh, damn, I better rush," I cut in as I realized how late I was running; Nudge had had a first free, but I was pretty sure I didn't. I ran out of her sight quickly before she could draw me into another long-winded rant about something or another.

I realized, that at this rate, I wouldn't be able to find my locker before lunch. I'd just have to run to my first period class after immediately picking up my schedule and reading it.

Rushing to my first period class—English, I glanced around the rooms a bit to find the one I was looking for. Outside the door, there was a group of kids waiting around the classroom, obviously meaning that our teacher hadn't arrived yet. People were catching up though, and loud chatter reverberated from the crowd as people acquainted themselves with their new english classmates for the year. I caught my breath and slowed down as I reached the crowd, soon beginning to look for familiar faces to say hi to after a long summer.

Finally giving up, or rather realizing that everyone had gotten taller than me this past summer, I settled for just leaning against the wall adjacent to the classroom door, beside a girl who sat next to be in Bio last year. I smiled at her and asked her how her summer was going, before a figure suddenly approached me, their shadow falling directly over me.

I turned my head from the side where I'd been looking at Becca, to see the flannel-adorned chest of Iggy, looming from a height much taller than me.

Looking at his face, my brow twitched suddenly in a flicker of anger. He had made me feel like an idiot this morning, quietly waiting for him to walk into the kitchen like he usually did. I was still angry at him for that.

"Max, lemme see your schedule?" he asked excitedly. He seemed to be hyped for school, seeing all these people.. but then again, he was always hyped.

I made no move to let go of my backpack and take out that piece of paper with my classes on it, unlike most people, who were currently sharing their schedules with their friends. Instead, I just continued glaring at him, feeling slightly peeved.

He _really_ never had a _clue _why I was _ever_ mad at him did he? I continued glaring at him angrily.

He looked up and got really, really, really close to face suddenly, looking at me through his sunglasses, but his nose just a close proximity of 3 centimeters away from me.

The girl beside me, Becca, to whom I had been talking to previously, turned suddenly to stare at us and was watching curiously, with wide eyes.

Since when did Iggy have the nerve to come this close to me? Much less in public? He had never done anything like this before.. except, perhaps, on the lawn this summer.. and in front of Fang.. just yesterday.. when he'd kissed me.. on my neck.. often.

Just thinking about that suddenly made me face feel red and heat up, and made me lose focus on that concentrated glare. It was a combination of him, and Fang, but remembering yesterday didn't make me cool down at all.

"Oh crap, sorry, were you waiting for me to come in this morning?" He suddenly realized, his cool minty-fresh toothpasted breath hitting my face and nose in close waves. I stayed still and didn't say anything.. I don't think I could have at that moment, in such a close proximity to him.

How the heck was he possibly so comfortable in this situation?! How the heck did girlfriends and boyfriends possibly show such enthusiasm in this much PDA??! And Iggy and I weren't even girlfriend/boyfriend.. we were just.. some _thing_. Anyway.. I couldn't possibly talk at this state—I was too nervoused out.

"Oh crap, oh crap, crap, crap, I'm so sorry Max" he seemed so genuinely ready to punch himself at that moment, that I couldnt possibly not feel bad.

It was actually pretty strange. He would never normally feel that bad for ditching plans or even doing anything vaguely bothersome to me—and all this was just an accident, I had simply _expected_ him to show up, nothing was _planned, _but he sounded so guilty about it.

"I'm _soo_ sorry, Max, god, seriously" He pulled back a bit to rub his forehead seriously. He seemed frustated with himself, "god I wasn't even thinking, I told Fang to tell you.. going out to play basketball with some friends beforehand.. I wasn't even.. ugh god—I'm _so_ so sorry, Max"

Now that he pulled back a little bit, I felt more free to say something, but still hadnt gotten over that awkward moment from before. Note to self: tell Iggy to stop getting so close to me. Particularly in public, where everyones watching us.

"No, its okay.. I just sort of, wasn't thinking either, and sorta expected..." I didn't finish.. what was I supposed to say 'sort of expecting that you'd go back to being my friend and all, since you kissed me and all yesterday, but whatever,' right?

No. That'd be awkward. And make no sense on his part.

"You're not going to break up with me, are you?" he asked honestly, his face looking quite upset.

I was still leaning against the wall, now staring up at his anguished face.

That was took me aback. He thought we were together?

Wait.. _were_ we together? When had this been decided on?

"WHAT? Um—"

"Thats great!" Iggy cut off, his face suddenly looking incredibly more brighter, as he quickly leaned forward and kissed me on my cheek, _so_ close to the corner of my lips that it was frightening. Maybe he really didn't know how to aim.. even if he was really close my face.

I was _double_-taken aback after that. I peripherally noticed that Becca and some other kids (a good number, actually) had been staring at this entire scene, and were now whispering quietly.

I glanced around at them, feeling quite awkward, but Iggy kept smiling at me happily, seeming to grin proudly at what he had just done—although his aim was pretty awkward on that part.. what had he been trying to land it on? The side of my face, a cheek, or my lips? He hadn't done either, but it was _so_ close to my lips.

And also, it was PDA, (public display of affection), something that I had NEVER approved of _in my life_. I hated to see it in the hallways of my high school career.. and now.. now _Iggy_ was pulling me into this? How could he?!

And he said we were _together_? (Well.. Obviously, I assumed that was what he was implying, considering one would presumably need to actively actually _be_ in a relationship in order to choose to break up in one..)

I was still in a state of shock, or anger, or frustration, or overwhelmingness, (I couldn't decide), when Iggy had decided to grab my hand and pull me into the classroom, which was now open, with the arrival of our teacher. I helplessly got pulled by him and followed, presumably to be led by him to a seat next to him.

Uh, it was nice on some level.. afterall, Iggy and I didn't sit next to eachother last year, when we were in the same Bio class.. we were in that awkward stage of knows-eachother-well-but-not-really-friends-anymore. It was nice on that level to sit next to him again—I felt like I had gained that best friend back.. But it was awkward on some other level, because he hadn't let go of my hand as we sat down, letting go of it finally once we had both settled in and took to taking books out of our bags.

It also didn't help that we seemed to be _the_ topic of discussion in that classroom this morning.. so early in the schoolyear and already gossip material.. Joys of high school, eh?

I _did not_ like this. I chose to be, and to _stay _Max: quiet, insular, tomboyish kid, who got along with mostly everyone, but wasn't close with _every_one_._

That was the major thing btw Iggy and I. I didn't come up to people and talk—he did. I was only close to a select few number of my friends—but he made _all_ his friends feel _really_ close to him. (But then again, it made me wonder about the breadth of his depth after that observation).

I realized this would be one one of the sideaffects of going out with Iggy—he was popular, well-liked, and well-known. Everyone was interested in him.

I guess it was just one of those subaffects of hanging out with Iggy, who, as of last year, had made quiet a name for himself at the school—being a part of the pranksters, the potheads, friends with the dumbasses, the dorks, good terms with the jocks, admired by the bitches.. I guess this was talk of the town.

_'Iggy_ is going out with _Max_. But everyone knows him so well! And.. and.. _Max_? Shes just.. too.. _normal_. _Too plain._'

It's true. No one knew me that well. There was nothing really all the special about me except for my fame in the school's girls teams. I was just known as that athletic girl. Nothing else really special about me. Not well known like Iggy for his good personality or ostentatious behavior.

It was a surprise he was going out with _me_. Cause, well, its _me_.

And his usual girlfriends.. were just.. usually.. not as under-the radar. More of the.. tightly fitting outfits, push-up bra + spaghetti strap tank tops in public, sunglasses as headbands over their bleach blonde highlight hair... more of the _sparkly_ type of girl. Not to say they were bad girls of course—I had known some of them, and they were perfectly nice. Iggy didn't have bad judgment after all.. but I guess he was aimed towards.. girls at the same _popularity_ level as him.. girls that _looked_ prettier—_cared_ to look nicer, I guess.

I was, pretty much, comparatively a tomboy in essence. Well-known for my athletic abilities, but not the type to dress to impress.

I could see people glaring curiously at our conjoined hands between our desks, their eyes having followed them from outside the door, before I seperated them to unpack my books and looseleaf.

That was just Iggy though.. he was just sincere and kindheartedness in his feelings.. not holding my hands just for the sake of ostentatious behavior.

He was.. such like a little kid, I guess, in some sense. In his eagerness, I'm supposing.

Also.. I guess since it was a new relationship.. but then again, I had no idea, honestly. I sighed a breath of relief as I put my chin on the palm of my left hand, making my propped up elbow on the desk support the weight of my head. I was listening to what the teacher was saying, but sort of zoning out on that level as well.. thinking through this whole Iggy thing. He was sitting right next to me.

And he had just a) kissed me and b) asked, publicly, if I planned on breaking up with him.

I should be mad.. _really really_ mad, andI _would_ be mad.. I _am_ mad.. but I don't have the heart to say it now. I was still overwhelmed.

Somehow, I begged to god that I didn't have any classes with him later this day for a while, just so I could think things through.

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_**A/N: I hope you guys aren't getting bored of the story yet!**_

_**I guess this was sort of a filler chapter, bt it was necessary in order to inform you guys of the status quo. Knowing this situation will make the following events (to be occurring) happen alot more dynamically!! Theyre starting school! Imagine what I'm wondering for all these possibilities ;]  
**_

_**So don't worry. Things will quicken. And I am also posting a survey up on my profile for this story, for what you guys want to see in the future. Go to my profile and answer it!!**_

_**Max/Fang angst coming up real soon.. like, right next chapter soon ;] Afterall, Fax can't be Fax without major angst. Hence this socially taboo incest story.**_

_**Please review! I need inspiration!**_


	21. Friday Nights

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in_ _nature,_ _and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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_**  
Chapter Twenty-One: Whats a Friday Night?**

After eating dinner, I collapsed on my bed after another long tiring day of school.. the start of a row of an endless many. Luckily it was a Friday night though, so the weekend was to come.

Since Fang had started coming in in the middle of the night, I'd begun to stop spending my after-dinner time on my computer, IMing people. It seemed that I now had other things to do—e.g., waiting for Fang. He was a startling presence in my life, and replaced that time and moment in life in which I'd just lay around after dinner IMing people on my computer.

Its not that he was _there_ or anything, to take up my time or anything, but it was just his presence—his pending, nonexistantly looming, presence—the fact that he'd _be _there, knowing that he'd be there, made me lie in bed sooner. It was a matter of waiting.

Fang came. Slid in next to me through the side of my sheets in the dark, spooning me on the impact.

The bottom of my heart fell as he snuggled in close against me and closed his eyes.

I could feel reverberations as a low hum noise released from the the bottom of his throat. He wrapped me tight around his arms and we fell asleep.

Or so.

His deep and steady breath, slightly tiredly sleepy sounding, was now low and groggy and sensual as he breathed deep into my skin and asked the question, "How was school today?"

It was an awkward moment (for me), because I didn't know how to respond—not while his face was so close digging into the nape of my neck, his arms sensually wrapped around my body, his breath, his voice, digging deep into my skin. How could I respond?

I took a deep swallow and a moment before I answered. Slowly, into the dark.

"It was fine," I whispered into the sky.

At the response, he rubbed himself up and down on the back of my neck, nuzzling in tiredly, sleepily.

"That's good.." he said, in a quiet yawn. He snuggled deeper in, his arms and hands beginning slow, smoothing, and relaxing circles around whatever part of my body they were on right now. He seemed sleepy.. but.. conversation?

In the middle of all this? I couldn't stand it.

But.. I sort of liked it. It put more sense into what he was doing now—it felt more realistic—it felt like he really existed as an entity outside of the seperate him at night and seperate him at home, in the house, in front of everyone else. Like they were one person, since he was talking to me.

So that was what had urged me to ask him another thing and continue the conversation—other than the fact that I couldn't go to sleep now, his arms rubbing circles around me, and his quiet groggy voice reverberating in my ear.

"How was yours?"

"Mmm.." he said lowly, "it was fine, too."

"Ah" I replied gently, into the air.

The last note rested between us, comfortably, in comfortable silence.

The air was thin, and it was soothing and relaxing, as he rested his arm over me and his back was hunched on his side to curve over me. His face was on my neck, and he liked it that way, and he hummed low into my ear as if he was saying a bazillion things that never needed to be said.

It was cool, it was sweet, it was relaxing.

So in his humming, I fell asleep.

Saturday, he got up early and left. Max sort of felt bad for him—having to get up early on a saturday morning, but it was worth it. Friday night's sleeping together was worth it.

Last night was probably the most restful sleep she'd ever had before, maybe it was cause of the silent, but full discussion they'd had the night before.

It was just.. calming, reassuring. His presence, and speech there, right there, below her neck.

She knew why he was tired on Friday—he'd gone to school and spent the _entire_ day testing for his class placements—talk about tiresome. He had apparently been fed up with the testing by 2:00 and had tried to leave the room for a break and walk around.

Although class had been in session at that time, he had gotten away with walking around the empty hallways for a little bit before the Dean had dragged him back into the room to finish his testing. The Dean had apparently been completely fed up with his tiresome, laid-back attitude, that was reported to be both unserious and unsuitable for acting with a school authority figure. He had made the speech to Max's Mom right at the time she had come to pick him up, to which he had reportedly replied,

"Sorry, I really do apologize, but I don't even know what the heck you're supposed to be.. My old school didn't have a 'dean',"

Later when he came home, he had had a pissed off look on his face and mentioned to Max how bogus this "Dean" was cause they went to a freaking _high_ school, not a damn university.

Max had raised her eyebrows and listened to him apprehensively. He was quite unaware of the impression he had made on her school otherwise, rather than that dean incident (which nobody knew about anyway).

He was quite unaware that everyone had heard about the new transfer student, and had seen him walking outside the school, and back into it, accompanied by an older parental-figure woman (not everyone knew who Max's mom was).

He was the hush-hush news of the week—even if it was so early on in the year. Although, people had only watched him from a distance, coming in with Max's mom, and leaving out. He had thoroughly spent the entirety of one day in a testing room.

Which could get on anyones nerves afterall, so Max sympathized at his need to get up and want to walk around a bit—from 9 to 3:30 in one small room taking test after test? Unbearable. And hard to imagine. She was surprised he had put up with it for so long. Apparently he had done the seventh test before trying to leave, but still had to come back to finish the 8th and last one.

His small presence though, was exaggerated by the school population, and excerbated by the fact that everyone knew he was in the Dean's room taking practice placing tests the entire day.

It didnt help that Iggy, who was as ostentatious and loud and obnoxious as ever, was bragging his name about in daily conversation everywhere. Max would stay quiet and shut up whenever he did—only submit a few small comments here and there—but everyone was twice as excited to meet him as Iggy had hyped him up.

"Aw, yeah, he's my best friend"

"Man, he's mad cool"

"Illest shit ever—he even fixed my Illinois comp Project in a blink a few weeks ago right before I sent it"

"He knows so much stuff, theres _nothing—no _one like him here"

"Plays sickk basketball—listens to sweeet music—bands you've never even heard of"

"And he's Max's half-brother"

Thats all she ever heard all that day on Friday; it made her roll her eyes during lunch, the way Iggy was hyping him up. People kept on asking questions about him to her after lunch that day. Initially she had been annoyed because of all the questions directed towards her (afterall, it _was her_ half-brother). Iggy's arm had been casually slung around her neck as he had enthusiastically jumped up and down on the cafeteria seat animating his excitement as he told everyone about Fang. She had watched Iggy rant and blow him up around the lunch table, slightly annoyed and peeved, since it just made people ask her even more questions (since it _was _her half-brother afterall).

"Omg, is he your twin?" was the most common and _frequent _one that she had got all day. It really annoyed her to be fed so many questions in one singular day—especially on a subject matter topic that was so mundane and something that so terribly did _not _matter yet since he'd come to school and meet them all eventually _anyway. _So she was sort of annoyed having to answer so many questions about him, and he didn't even know.

Although honestly, her annoyance with the questions had pissed her off enough to be completely unhelpful in answering them anyway.

Though the most common one had been answered a bazillion times, only because she didn't want people to think Fang was her stupid long lost _twin_ or something. They _definitely_ were not twins—they didn't even look alike. He was way taller than her on one note, had a different, darker hair color, had a paler olive-toned complexion—not a sun golden like hers—apparently his mom had been middle-eastern or meditteranean or something—and also had a different eye color.

They did look sort of related though, if you looked carefully. The facial structure—they had the same forehead structure and upper-side of their jaws, so the resemblance was there. Basically the upper part of their faces were very similar and gave eachother the resemblances that looked like they were related, even though the lower half of their faces were completely different and their hair colors and color traits were completely off. You had to look very very carefully, but it was there.

But anyway, regardless, they could definitely not pull off the twins vibe—the resemblance was to a minimum and thought made Max shudder, and sorta kinda even grossed her out—sharing a _womb_ with Fang—ew. Nothing personal though, but somehow.. it just felt kind of, sort of.. ew.

So she had agitatedly said, "He's my _**little**_ brother. We've got a difference of 6 months between us." _And were born from different mothers_, she felt like saying, but decided to tastefully leave out. Her personal family matters did not need to seep out to the public, afterall.

Luckily, she didn't have to face the _name_ question yet though.. she had explained the situation to Iggy, and he had taken care of it. People asking him why his name was Fang.. that would be awkward on his part.. and she wouldn't want to answer it either..

Revealing the disparities in your family to the public was never comfortable. What could she say? 'Oh, _Jeb_ made it that way. It was originally just a nickname in his old school and something his friends called him all the time—but _Jeb_ wanted to erase _each_ and _every_ remnant of his old life away from him, including his parents, so officially changed his name to 'Ride' and changed 'Nick' to 'Fang.' Great, huh? Now he's stuck with a stupid name.' and then theyd be like "Uhh.. why do you call your dad Jeb?"

Iggy had fixed that though; taken care of the sensitive situation, explained to everybody something or another that would avoid the actual situation and protect Fang from being asked that question a bazillion times on his first day. Nevertheless, Max had still been annoyed with his loud mouth that day. People had kept on coming up to her and asking her questions about Fang.

However, she lay in bed on Saturday night, in the arms of Fang, and decided to change her mind about Iggy's doings and over-exaggerations. At first it had annoyed her, because people had kept on asking her questions about her new half-brother's arrival at their school, but now she decided that it shouldn't bug her on all that large of a level much anymore.

She realized she knew Fang definitely won't have problems making friends or getting to know people now. People would practically be rushing towards Fang in curiosity, wanting to see what Iggy called his "Best friend" and "Wow, Max has got a _half_-brother? Where does that come from?" They'd want to ask him questions, and then he'd get to know people.

Yes, he'd have friends.

But according to Iggy's appraisals and the amount of talk and curiosity that was going about his presence recently, he was the illest shit to hit the John Browning California State high school yet. Too bad he didn't even know it—Fang Nick Ride was still busy sulking over the attitude the Dean had accused him of giving off. With not a clue how anticipated with curiosity his arrival is, or how much talk had been going around about him that day whilst he was stuck in that little room, testing.

Max went to sleep in satisfaction after she thought it over on Saturday night, deciding that it was well off that that Fang wouldn't have any trouble making friends the next week.

Fang hugged her close and tight against him.

She would have to say sorry to Iggy later, for the bad attitude, and thank him later, for what he did. Lying in the arms of Fang, she wondered what she should do to thank Iggy, but eventually just slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

On Sunday, they woke up late, the sunlight streaming into the room even through the silky curtains. She blinked a moment looking up, before she suddenly realized she was lying on very warm, steadily-rising-and-falling thing.

Still sleepy and quite groggy, she turned slowly to look down and see Fang's figure still lying there. Her hand propping herself up right below his pits, she looked down at his sleeping form, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, before her face suddenly turned into shock.

Fang.. here..?

Oh no—what time was it?

Goddammit, he hadn't been able to get up..

God, her mom had _seen them_.

What the fuck

God, she was seriously on the verge of freaking out right now, her eyes wide eyed and she stared down at his sleeping form in disbelief.

"Fang.. Fang!" she whispered furiously, grabbing his chest and shaking him from her spot right beside him.

"... Max? What?" he groggily responded.

"Fang! How the freak could you _forget_ to wake up?" Max was furious now, whispering, and just about getting ready to slap him, "What does she _think?!!_"

She was really ready to slap him now, but he had just gotten up to sit upright and suddenly grabbed her wrists before she could finally throw the offending strike.

"Relax" he commanded suddenly, in the tone of voice Max didn't like, because it made him sound more mature, wiser, and more knowledgable and in control than she was.

"What," she seethed out, her breath still low, afraid someone else in the house might hear her—them.

Fang had apparently suddenly sobered up and gotten his thoughts together. He held her wrists down and then let them go once he'd watched her chill out.

"Dr. Martinez got up extra early today, just when I was about to leave, so I waited for her, but she never checked your room, so after she left I locked your door so your sister or Jeb won't come in," he said in one breath, in that normal, annoying, monotonous voice of his.

My heart skipped a beat and stopped rushing. He saw the change in my facial expression, and then groaned lightly at being woken up so suddenly and awfully.

"They're not coming in anytime soon" he said, already falling back and his eyes already closed while his arms looked for places on my hips.

I let out a deep sigh.

* * *

Looking down at his schedule, Fang shut his locker after chucking a few certain books in there and familiarizing himself with it. He was still staring down at his schedule trying to make sense of it, when a guy suddenly formed right next him, leaning against the lockers right behind the door of his own.

"Hey, you're Fang, right?" the guy asked. He seemed good-natured, from the looks of his face. Fang looked at him curiously, and without a single change in facial expression he answered.

"Yeah."

Completely neutral, unenthusiastic.. even disinterested, if you wanted to interpret it a certain day. Nevertheless, the other guy who had initially approached him, was taken aback.

"Uh.. yeah.." the guy responded awkwardly before continuing slightly nervously, "So you're best buds with Iggy, aren't you?"

"I know him, if thats what you mean" Fang replied stoicly, but honestly if you'd ever ask him.

He turned away from the face of the guy, to stare up at the classroom doors and look at the numbers on top of them. He had had a first period free today—the only day of the week he had one—and Iggy and Max and Ella had already gone to their classes, so he was left with the suggestion that he a) find his locker and then b) try to figure out how the room numbering worked in the school. He got started on the second task.

It was pretty empty now anyway. Most kids didn't have first period frees unless they were seniors, and if they did, they would just rather sleep in and come to school on time for second period. He wondered why this kid was here.

"Whoo—cold" he replied to Fang, "So, what do you do for fun?"

Fang turned back to look at him and wondered why this guy was so interested in him. He measured out his reply before answering.

"Nothing, yet" he replied.

Fang's resolute, uninterested, small answers were taking the kid aback and he nodded skeptically at Fang. Fang ignored his perception of his personality—if he couldn't deal with his attitude, he wasn't worth his time. Afterall, no one asked him to come up and talk to him.

The guy paused a bit, wondering why the Fang-kid was getting to be so hard to get along with, and why he was so hyped up if he was so hard to get along with. But then he gave up and followed him as Fang walked around the student-filled classrooms, glancing at the numbers at the top of doors while glancing down at his schedule here and there.

"So, when'd you first meet Max?" he started conversationally. Afterall, it was a pretty insulated suburb, and as far as he knew, Max didn't have a half or step-family anywhere. Fang's appearance was something new.

Fang mulled the question over in his head, but rather than answering it, his curiosity overwhelmed him.

"What'd she say about me?"

_Finally_, the kid thought, a sound from him.

"Oh, nothing much really. Iggy was doing all the talking. She was just sort of sitting there looking annoyed," he responded.

"Oh. I see," Fang went back to his observing the classroom door numbers.

A silence passed between them before the other kid spoke up again.

"So, what's it like, being Max's brother?" he asked, desperate to bring something up conversationally.

Fang turned from his schedule and stopped walking around the classroom door hallways. He turned back and faced the guy. Something in his glare was resolute.

"Max is not my sister," he echoed dangerously, before walking away.

"What?" the guy asked confusedly to no one in particular, watching Fang's back walk away from him, "Then what was everyone saying yesterday?" He scratched his head confusedly, staring after the new kid, who he definitely couldn't make heads nor tails out of.

Fang curved around a hallway before walking through, looking up at the top of the room number only to see that there wasn't one there. He stared at it blankly, confusedly, for a second, wondering where he was. He stood there for a second, staring at it confusedly, before reaching up and scratching his head. It was almost time for second period anyway.. in which he had a writing class.

"Hey!" A girl sounded out from behind him. He turned back to stare at her.

She was a very pretty african american girl with a sweet voice. Her smile was wide and the apples of her cheeks jut out when she did so, flushed a rosey dark-plum color. She was definitely pretty, her dress very flatteringly so on her small thin and lithe body, with a colorful two-strapped jansport backpack and a curve-hugging pair of jeans. Her top was nice and light and flowy on top of it, a silky babydoll type of thing.

"Hi," he replied, not knowing what the girl's name was.

"Thats the library," she said to him, smiling, "and I'm Nudge!"

He smiled goodnaturedly in thanks, before he brought his right hand out for a handshake

"I'm—"

"Fang—yeah, I know!" Nudge smiled prettily and began to gush. Fang felt slightly confused, but nodded slowly agreeably, just deciding to go unsuredly with the flow. Afterall, the name Nudge _did_ feel familiar, but he just couldn't quite place it.

"Oh, _everyone_ knows about you, Iggy's been telling everyone about you" she continued, happily smiling, "I've been waiting to meet you since _last_ summer too!! I'm so excited I can finally see you now!"

Fang appreciated the enthusiasm this girl gave him, but was still slightly confused. He wouldnt put it past Iggy to tell everyone about him—but was Iggy really that popular that _everyone_ in the school would know about him already? It sort of creeped him out.

"You're sort of cute, ooh Max never told me that. You're her half-brother, aren't you? Besides the part about you being cute, she told me basically _all_—" the comment irked Fang and he cut her off.

"No. I'm not," he said, before turning around and walking away from her, "and she's not my sister," he replied darkly.

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_**Author's Note:**_

**Ooh. Angst. Whats going to happen when Max finds out Fang is refusing to call her his sister? The entire beginning part is fanservice btw, lol. Thank me.**

**And review!! :D**


	22. My Sister

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in_ _nature,_ _and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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_**  
Chapter Twenty-Two: Untitled**

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****_I reference a discussion Iggy has with Fang in this chapter and some certain advice Iggy asks Fang for-refer back to Chapter 14 in case you guys have forgotten what it was! ;] Thats only in case you want deeper insight to discussion Fang was referring to in this chapter, of course. _  
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"So" A voice came from behind him.

Fang turned to see Iggy slouching around the corner of the lab table, reaching to grab a chair on Fang's other side. He had been patiently waiting, 20 minutes early, in their physics class, and Iggy was now just the third or fourth person to arrive.

Fang was surprised to see him, because according to his schedule, he was taking a senior-level physics class. His curriculum had him accelerated a few levels at John Browning State high school cause of all the credits he had from Massachussets, and his assessment tests weren't shabby either.

Though Fang was superlatively surprised, he let it go, greeting Iggy's presence and acknowledging it smoothly as Iggy took a seat beside him. It was Third Period. Somehow he didn't doubt Iggy's being in an accelerated science class, considering he'd probably ousted all his past teachers who didn't know an inkling past graduate school chemistry.

"So—" he repeated more seriously this time to Fang, before he leaned in more closely to continue the conversation, "I hear you've been telling people Max isn't your sister."

Ig's tone of voice threw Fang off a bit. His latent seriousness was sort of scaring him, although he'd never admit it—its just that he had never heard Iggy talk such a serious way these days.

And then suddenly the thought struck him;

_'Why _had_ I been doing that?' _

Two people, and the news was already around.

Fang stared at him blankly.

Ignoring Fang, he continued, "You're just lucky Max hasn't found out yet, if you haven't had any classes with her yet, but its undeniable that she'll find out if I've found out.. so.. do something about that—you can expect she'll get mad and totally explode when she does" Iggy interjected. And even in the midst of all that, there was very little humour in his voice—something that Fang had possibly sworn as decidedly impossible once meeting and getting to know him this past summer.

Iggy always seemed to have a lilt of humour or an underlying joke in everything he uttered, whether it was the most serious thing on earth he'd always make a joke out of it.. but now.. now he was just plain, utterly, downright stoic.

Fang started to regret what he'd done earlier in the day, in first period.

"Where'd you hear that from?" he asked him apathetically.

Iggy leaned back from their conversation and stretched his arms out, looking this way and that to assess his classmates again, before turning back to answer him.

"Nudge told me," he replied, "But that doesnt change the fact that Sam came up to me later and told me too."

Fang nodded in acknowledgment, but didn't say anything. He couldn't deny it, but couldn't say anything either. So the first kid's name had been Sam, eh?

Unbeknownst to Fang, but growing ever so clear to Iggy, the class was awrack in quick whispers and excited suggestions pointed towards him.

Fang was still deep in his thoughts though, thinking about the sin he'd just committed a while ago.

It was just yesterday—a few weeks ago—when Iggy had come up to him asking him for advice for what to do with Max, and Fang had had the incredible urge to call her "_my sister," _instead of "_Max_,"

But.. he had restrained himself; thought it would be too awkward, too intimidating for Iggy.. but, but he had still had the urge.

He had been _so _desperate with desire, to call Max _'his sister' _in front of Iggy that time.

So why hadn't he done it? And above all, why did he now feel this conflicting desire not to, when he had been so eager to do _exactly_ the opposite just a few weeks ago?

Nothing had changed since then, had it?

Except.. for that kiss maybe, but Fang had made sure that that stayed fresh clear out of Max's mind.

He had made it clear that it meant nothing and was simply an accident. Albeit an angry accident, a passionate act he had been craving to do for ages—just to try out, just to see what it'd be like—it was still an _accident. _And he made _sure_ that Max didnt think anything of it now, and if anything, especially thought of him as a sibling now, in light of that ignored and disregarded kiss that was handled so easygoingly.

He made _sure_ it meant nothing to him.

So.. why was he doing this now? Why had he wanted to call Max "his sister" back then, in front of Iggy, and why had it pissed him off when people had casually referred to her as that now? Why?

Fang was wracking his head over these issues, leaning over the black counter top of the lab table, while Iggy stared at him from his side. He looked pretty disinterested in the hunched over, conflicted-looking form of Fang, but continued staring at him leisurely. Meanwhile, the whisper and chatter over him was growing fiercer and more people piled into the room for the class—which Iggy, under normal circumstances, would have found endlessly amusing and gratifying, but currently, was ignoring for other purposes—namely, Fang. Who coincidentally, by any chance, seemed to be the main point of their chatter anyhow.

So Why?

Fang had found out the answer.

Fang didn't want to call her "my _sister"_ now..

but and back then.. he had. He had wanted to be able to call her "_**my**_sister."

He had wanted her to belong to him.. to call her "_my_ **sister**" in front of Iggy, cause it would make her a _possession _in front of Iggy—_his _possession—in front of Iggy, who was essentially nothing to her at that point in time. It made him feel above him.

It would've shown Fang a connection to her and a closeness—something that Iggy couldn't compete with, no matter how much time he'd spent with her.

Thats why he had wanted to call her "_my_ sister—" in front of Iggy.

'_Cause she was _mine_.. and _not _his'_

But now.. now he somehow realized the word.. _sister.. _had more implications than that of the word "_mine"_. And all the implications that that beheld.

"My _sister_."

All the implication in and within "my _sister."_

_Something that pissed him off when other people said it._

Something that he couldn't stand to withhold in front of Iggy.

At least not anymore.

And thats when Fang realized that not only the kiss, but something else had changed since then:

_Iggy_ had become Max's boyfriend.

_And that is what had changed_.

"Fine, I can fix it, but why is it such a big deal?" Fang uttered quietly to Iggy during class.

Their AP Physics teacher, who Fang percieved to be a big bore in the near future, was currently giving a lecture on astrophysics and how it related to their current cirriculum.

"I don't get why you said it in the first place, but honestly dude—only bad options are out there—and thats' what Max is gonna be thinking" Iggy whispered back emphatically.

Fang took a moment to soak that in, copying down a few more sloppy notes from the board, but he still didn't get what Iggy was saying.

"I don't get it, what do you mean?" Fang furiously whispered back, his eyes still set on his looseleaf as he scribbled down some more notes.

He heard Iggy give a huge exasperated sigh—a weary sort of aura coming off from him that Fang would have never expected from the perpetually-joking, easygoing practical prankster.

"Look—don't you get it? Max has been wanting to get you to see her as a sister—and like her for it too—for _forever_. If she finds out you've been going around not calling her your sister, she's going to think she practically failed" Iggy said, "and she's gonna get _angry _at you."

Before Fang could interject anything into that comment, like for example, the fact the definitely _didn't_ hate her (anymore), Iggy cut in again.

"And honestly, I'm pretty pissed off too—You told Sam you barely knew my name, denied being Max's brother, so what are we, too freaking lame for you? You don't want to be associated with us? Are we getting in the way of any potential high school stardom you might have? You wanna make a new set of friends?" Iggy said, growing increasingly louder and frustrated as he taunted Fang. The hostile aura was practically seeping off of him, and Fang finally realized why Iggy had come in seeming so mean and unkidding.

He had taken it personally—_How couldn't he? _Fang thought.

"I'm sorry." Fang replied, unemotionally. Stoicly, he turned back to face the board again and continued jotting down notes from it. He could hear Iggy heave a pissed off, exasperated, and offended breath of disastonishment behind him. But what could he say? What could he do?

This was not how he had intended for him to take it when he had first done it. He had just not wanted people to see Max as his true blooded sister.

Not.. all this stuff, with Iggy being offended at him, and Max thinking that he didn't see her as a sister cause he didn't like her or anything.

Through the hallway, many people would come up to him and ask him about himself.. but after Physics, he had regretted what he'd been saying earlier. Though.. he still couldn't bring himself to say 'yes' when people asked him if whether or not he was Max's sister.

He wanted to know what Max would think.

Truly, deeply, he desired it so—he wanted to see what_ Max_ would think, at people not thinking of him as her brother.. He would do so—would start calling Max his sister—_after _he found out what she though. If she got angry.. he wouldn't care. He wanted to know what she would say.

Did she really see him as a brother? Did she _really_?

Fang sighed as he faced with the fifth person that day, between periods 4 and 5, after finishing his fourth period class and trying to find his way to the lunch room.

"So, are you seriously, like, Max's _brother_?"

He was quickly getting disamused at this school's prying nature of students. How many people would really need to ask him this and 50,000 other random questions? It was quickly getting irritating.

Withholding an impatient breath, with slitted eyes, he looked down at her and boredly answered her,

"I'm Ella's big bro," he said, looking at the girl like she was the stupidest person he'd ever met.

He walked away quickly from her, books and textbooks in his hand, when he approached the doors to the cafeteria. He walked in through the double doors and surveyed the cafeteria, looking around at the two lunch lines on opposite sides of the room, and the array of circularly-shaped lunch tables in the room, some people already milling about in the seats and chatting with their friends.

Soo.. where should he sit?

On either sides of him, people were approaching—probably to invite him to sit with them. He surveyed the people approaching—a group of senior girls from his 2nd period AP BC Calc. class... some random red-haired girl he'd noticed in his physics class, sitting aways off from him and Iggy.. some guys who had been wondering to recruit him for the school's football and soccer teams between 2nd and 3rd periods.. altogether, all bad choices.

His eyes went back to search the large spanse of the room quickly, suddenly finding a desirable image in his line of sight. With intention, he quickly walked towards it, completely missing the beckoning groups of students trying to get him to sit with them.

He took a seat on an empty table, occupied by the single figure of Ella. This was definitely, probably, perfect; the exact place he'd rather want to sit.

"Fang!" Ella exclaimed enthusiastically, her face lined with pleasant surprise.

"Hey Ella, whats on for grub today?" he casually asked her. However, she ignored his blasé nature, which he was trying _so _hard to uphold, especially in light of all the things that had already happened.

"Fang, how was your first day of school?" she asked instead. He sighed wearily—somehow she never fell for his blasé-ness like the way Max did. She was always straight to the point and could see through him easily. And she always asked what she wanted to.

"Well, it's not over yet, Ella" he decided to respond. It was argumentably true—he still had 4 periods left.

And dammit—he just realized that two of them—periods 6 and 8—were frees too. What a crappy schedule—he'd rather have frees at the end or the beginning of the day rather than in the middle. It was so tempting to cut in the middle of the day, whereas he could just leave early or sleep in if they were in the two parallel ends of the school day.

"I'm mad hungry, could you get me some lunch?" he asked her. Ella looked at him strangely.

"Why cant you get it yourself?" she asked with curiosity. It wasn't rude, mean, or combative.

Fang paused.

"Because.. because.. there are hordes of people waiting and trying to meet and get to know me over there" he pointed the one of the lines, "and over there," he gestured at the other one.

Looking around, Ella giggled as she realized one quarter of the lunchroom and the cafeteria was looking in their direccion. She was pleasantly surprised, and flattered, that Fang had chosen to sit with her, instead of any other hording teenagegroup of his eager, vying fans. Everyone in the junior and senior halls were dying to meet the "new kid" everyone had raved about, thanks to Iggy.

"Why don't you just flip them off?" Ella suggested, giggles consuming her mouth, "You're pretty good at that," she stated honestly.

"Well," Fang started to explain thoughtfully, "thanks to your dear sister Max, and your even equally dearer Iggy, who has spread all these excessive rumours about me, I can'tdo that"

Ella blushed at the mention of_ "your even equally dearer Iggy,"_ getting ready to dispute that claim, but instead backtracked.

"Oh—have you been introducing yourself to people as my brother?" Ella asked curiously. Fang turned down from his surveying the cafeteria to look at her before answering her,

"Yea, why?" he replied.

"Oh, cause people have been coming up to me and asking me if I was this freshman named Ella, who was supposedly Fang's little sister," Ella recalled confusedly, "and then they asked me if I was Max's little sister too," she paused to make an annoyed face, "and then they just walked away confusedly."

He paused for a second, just looking at her before finally asking,

"How big is this school?" _cause people don't seem to have lives_.. News sure seemed to get around fast. And everyone was _prying. _

"Um.. I don't know, I'm new here myself too," Ella replied, "Here, you can have my lunch, I asked Mom to pack me something anyway," she said, pushing the tray in front of her towards him.

Fang took it gratefully and started eating as he picked out things he liked from the tray. He still couldn't get over all the eyes on his back and on his head though. He was glad he picked Ella to sit with—she was a freshman, and no one knew her yet. No one wanted to bother him around her.

And then suddenly, the quietness was disturbed.

You can guess who.

Max slammed her palms onto the table in front of Fang and Ella, glowering over both of them from the other side of them. Iggy was behind her, shaking his head, and looking disturbed.

He wasn't emanating any particularly unhostile attitude towards Fang either.

He took this as a bad sign, and took another gulp of his food, looking up at Max calmly.

"So," he said. She kept on glowering.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem" she spat loudly and disgustingly onto his face. Ella watched meekly, wondering what was going on. She looked towards Iggy's face for answers or reassurance, but he was just stoicly standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, and brows furrowed over the sunglasses adorning on his face. He didn't make any move to stop her, which made her wonder what Fang had done wrong—it was usually Iggy who got between them in quarrels, being Fang's best friend and all, and Max's former best friend. He usually took Fang's side too though.. a guy thing, probably.

But here, he was just standing there.

Perhaps he thought his girlfriend was more important now, in having to pick over her brother and his own best friend, Ella pondered. It was still curious that Iggy was just standing there though, making no effort to stop or restrain back either one of them.

"Nothing," Fang offered confusedly, but mocking her, of course though. This only infuriated Max even more.

By this time, they had attracted a fairly large audience, for everyone who had previously been staring at Fang and Ella's table were now wondering why Max was mad at them. They knew Max and _Iggy_ afterall, and were now curious of Fang's involvement with them.

And what with all the weird news going around about this guy not being related to Max, and disputing Iggy's credibility—making the altogether good guy seem pretty lame and pretty bad—was curiously the talk of the town thus far in the school day. Everyone wondered about Fang—confused by Iggy's ranting and ravishing of him prior to his arrival, and his response afterwards.

Iggy seemed pretty turned off by all this attention and the crowd—which was curious, since he usually loved attention—but particularly not in this situation probably, Ella assumed.

"You.. you" Max seemed to splutter out, looking like she wanted to cry tears of anger right now, "_I hate you_" she finally said to Fang, before storming off.

Iggy's brows furrowed aggressively as Max let out those words, and he felt her whisp past him as she ran off. It pained Iggy to see Max in so much pain, but as much as he wanted to go after her to soothe her, he knew he had to talk to Fang first. He was worried how much he was involved in this, but he couldn't help it—he was a major cause, even if he was a major mediator, and above all, Fang had personally offended him too as well.

Fang stared after her storm off, his eyes blank and wondering.

_That_, he hadn't expected.

Of all things, _that_, was not what he had expected. Emotional pain? No.. he had expected screaming, the silent treatment maybe, or what he had been silently preferred in his mind—this discaringness that meant that Max really didn't mind not calling him her brother at school.

But no, he'd got none of that. Instead, he got an angry slam of his lunch table, a running off, and those three words: _I hate you_. They reverberated around in his head curiously.

He turned to Iggy.

"What was that about?" he asked, though he already knew, he wanted to make sure.

Iggy sighed deeply, taking a seat at their table across from Ella and him, and putting his head in his hands. He didn't seem sympathetic.

"You," he began, "really fucked up."

Iggy began to wonder whether he really knew Fang at all anyway.. afterall, theyd only met 2 months ago. All he really knew was that he was fun to hang around with, played around at his old school, and was a pretty quiet and silent type of guy. Oh, and that he infuriated Max often.

But now, he was seeing all these levels to Fang he hadn't expected before. It really put him off base, considering he always thought of Fang as a good guy.

And now.. now he was being a jerkass and denying relation to them.

"I didn't fuck up" Fang replied, "I didn't even do anything."

Before Iggy could reply, he suddenly cut him off again

"—well, I _did_ do something, but whys she getting so upset over it?" Fang ammended.

Iggy didn't know how to begin to explain this situation to him. How could Fang _not_ realize why they were getting upset over this? Max and him both? Like seriously, was Fang _that_ dim? And people called _him_ dim, but he thought of Fang as like, this silent genius person.. How could he _not _realize how he'd vaguely, seriously offended both of them?

"The same reason Iggy's upset," Ella said. Fang stared at her, waiting to see if she'd continue.

"You did something like tell everyone you weren't related to them, didn't you?" Ella hypothesized.

"You seriously insulted them" Ella inserted. And then Fang realized.

"Yeah, sort of," Iggy added, superlatively bitter.

"Everyone thinks I'm a laughingstock now," he exaggerated, "you know all I did to make sure you'd have friends here? I went and told them you were Max's brother and how cool you were, and they all expected you to jump out and make everything here exciting" Iggy continued, "but you just.. you just killed it"

Fang felt insanely guilty now.

"I didn't mean to. I just didn't get why random people were coming up to me and asking me questions all the time" he responded gruffly, lying only partially. Iggy, however, lightened up considerably.

"Really?" his mood changed exaggeratedly, the wide grin gracing his face again, "Lets go talk to Max then!" he suggested, while Ella looked slightly disturbed at the exchange.

"Okay then, bye.." Ella responded as Iggy dragged Fang away to the cafeteria exit through which Max had previously left. She stared at their backs once more before changing her table to sit with some friends from middle school she had previously sighted coming into the cafeteria.

Iggy seemed to drag Fang effortlessly throughout the large spanse of the school, seeming to know exactly where Max'd go in running off.

"She'd usually just go to this empty classroom to talk to Nudge in our freshman year whenever she was upset, so she's probably still back there," Iggy said, grinning extra widely and they flew through the corriders and turns, "Man, I can't wait until she finds out she got all this upset for nothing—she thought you were like, avoiding us or something," Iggy added the rest quickly. They finally reached a door, and Iggy slowed down and opened the door.

"Max?" he called out softly. Fang and him entered to see an angry dark lump sitting in the corner, perched on top of a desk, opposite the large windows of that room. He could see why she'd want to come here whenever she got upset—the windows were so huge, and seemed to cover the vast sky in its depth. She turned at Iggy's voice, but then her face grouched again at seeing Fang.

"What is _he_ doing here?" she asked nastily. Iggy awkwardly laughed at her antagonistic response and then roughly pushed Fang forward by the arm.

"He didn't not mean well," he urged, kicking Fang bit more at his ankles.

"_Ow_!" Fang replied, glaring back at him. Max suddenly turned on him then.

"What?" she shot at him, "Why're you here? We're not _cool_ enough for ya, _Fang, remember?_" she replied mockingly.

Ooh, that hurt, Fang mentally acaptated. He could finally see why they were taking this so seriously now. He'd be better off letting her vent, he realized, but couldn't resist the urge to say something back. She cut him off though—

"You know, after this summer," she said angrily, "I thought we had actually started to get along," she seemed close to tears now, but continued angrily.

"I didn't think you'd actually _deny_ being my brother" she said, tears threatening to spill over, "_Sor-ry_, if we've been mean or horrible to you.. but seriously, denying that you even _know_ us? Thats going _too _far."

Max felt like hitting him.

"It's okay if you think we're uncool. Or if you don't want to hang out with us at school—I don't even care," Max continued, ignoring Iggy's spluttered at that, (since he, on the other, really _did care_ whether Fang hung out with him at school), "but seriously, you don't even have to deny the fact the you even _know_ us."

"Sorry if I _embarrass_ you, Fang, that you want to deny any relation to me at all whatsoever. _Sorry_ if I'm just some stupid, ugly, blond, bimbo, _bitch_ to you, Fang," Max said, sarcasm dripping from her voice like sweet, sweet poison, "I thought we had gotten over that, and you didn't think of me like that anymore, but if you want to avoid me at school, just go ahead," she raged angrily, "I don't even give a fuck, anyway" she finished with finality.

Iggy seemed highly distressed at her outburst, wanting sincerely to make friends with Fang again; not give him _ideas_ to leave. Fang was a cool friend to have around, and his friends would sincerely like him too.. he didn't want Fang to run off.

"Max, relax" Iggy soothed, rushing towards her, "he didn't mean it like that, he said he was just annoyed at—"

"—He CLEARLY said '_Max isn't my sister_' to Nudge, and above all _SAM!_" Max practically shouted out. The lights were off in the room, and everything was vaguely darkened, despite the presence of the large windows at their sides.

Fang watched all of this sallowly, his face feeling like it was slowly getting drained, listening to the words pour out from his half-sister's mouth. He hadn't thought he'd see her get this emotional, ever—and even more surprising, _he _was the cause of it.

"Max," he said suddenly. He focused his gaze on her, made sure it was hard, and that all she was seeing were his eyes.

"You _really_ want people to call you my sister?" he said suddenly. Iggy looked up in his direction, now at the side of Max.

Max looked up to him, her nose sniffling in that outburst of emotion.

With how angry she was now, she had half a nerve to say '_No, who needs you, you goddamned fucking jerk. I don't want to call you my brother ever again in my _life_. If Jeb ever brings you up again as my brother, I'll slap him. Fucking asshole.' _But she couldn't.

'Cause deep, deep down inside, she wanted him to call himself her brother.. That this whole summer was not a loss and not a waste.. that she wasn't deluding herself into seeing affection when they slept together at night. That he really _did_ see himself as her brother. Above all, thats what hurt her the most.. that he _still_ didn't like her? Couldn't call her his sister? She had tried _so_ hard to get along with him and be nice.

She had even _worried_ about him and whether or he'd be able to make friends—had even employed Iggy to do his magic and work their student body into falling for him—and this is what he'd paid her back with? Denied any relation with them at school?

"Yes" she replied. With a quiet _whoooshh, _Iggy let out a breath in relief. For a second, Iggy thought she'd say no just out of spite. And then where would their relationship with Fang go? Down the gutter. You couldn't coax a quiet guy like him to make friends with you a _second_ time. And he very well couldn't be friends with him if Max didn't like him!

"You _really_ want people to call you my sister?" Fang asked once again, a lot more intensely this time.

"Yes," Max said, strongly; definite, resolute.

Somehow, someway, Fang felt something inside of him _die _at that.

He didn't know why. He had just been curious what she would think of him denying it.. whether she would go along with it, or try to refute. He even thought about how funny it'd be if she got all mad over it too. He liked to see her get flustered.

Her answer was determined; it was sure. It was defiant.

He had never expected her to get _hurt_ for not calling her his sister.

"Okay then." He replied emotionlessly.

In the cafeteria, Fang looked around until he found the face he was looking for above the crowd of people and teenagers in there. He found it—blond hair over his forehead, laughing casually at a table of some kids.

Fang approached Sam.

Iggy and Max followed behind Fang with confusion, wondering where he was going, and who he was going to talk to. Fang approached Sam and a cluster of tables with recognizable faces, scattered with people who had come up to him earlier.

"Yo," he greeted.

"I'm Iggy's neighbor, Fang. Max's little bro."

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_**Author's Note:**_

_**People have been commenting that I've got a few mistakes here and there, and I'm so sorry! Sometimes I don't feel like rereading something if I've spent too long of a time on it (thus, why my 10-page term papers turn out to be so damn crappy sometimes.. lol jk.. sorta. I check them after I sit a while and then read them back over two weeks later). Its hard to be susceptible to your own mistakes if you're the one whose written them-you're so encaptured by the vision of how you want the chapter interpreted, that you read it in such a way. There are like, grammatically errors here and there probably.**_

_**If anyone would like to be my beta, go ahead and reccommend yourself to me! Actually, this will encourage me to put up chapters alot more quicklier, because then I'll have someone relying on me to send them something.. and deadlines.  
**_

_**Oh yeah. I have a new story! Sorta. Well. Its not a story, just something I wrote randomly.**_

_**Go to my profile, and check out **_**Trying To Remember _it might just stay a oneshot though, but its FAX! And M-rated! Oh, and while youre there, you can check the poll results, since I made them public now ;]_**

**_Also, I recently read __Flowers In The Attic, by V.C. Andrews, for inspiration. Its also about brother-sister incest, but its scared me :( Its a horror book about kids locked in an attic, so I just got nightmares :(_**

**_Also! You fanfiction readers must read books! SUGGEST ME SOME! PLEASE? SOME GOOD ONES! (No offense, but please not twilight). I'm really on a book reading craze now; before, I didn't have any time. I recently read _The Mortal Instruments _series by Cassandra Clare. The incest thing between Jace and Clary really turned me on, but the last part of _The City of Glass_ sorta annoyed me, because it was such a quick solution to all the angst. =.= She took the easy way out.  
_**

**_Ooh, I also finally read _Fang_. Okay, no offense, but I think JP is just running on his fanbase now.. b/c his books show an extreme and obvious lack of effort on his part. Its full of technical genetic mumbo jumbo now, bits of Max's emotions, and less real STORY. Its not a complex, interesting story like the first three books were anymore. Its like a one streamline narrative. Also, he doesnt really characterize the characters as well anymore. And Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy are totally useless in his recent books except for Nudge's occasional handy dandy computer hacking, but even so, she is just used as a tool. Iggy has so much more potential in the books, but JP doesnt use his character as much. Its all about the dynamics between Max, Angel, and Fang. And even then, Fang is just, used as a tool for Max's characterization, rather than really personalized as himself. Angel is the only one of the characters with an intense, multi-faceted personality. Iggy, Gazzy, and Nudge, have basically ceased to exist-their personalities don't have any distinctive emotional levels at all, except for their same old talents and quirks. They're all, including Max's character now, really one-dimensional. Max has ceased to have a character at all anymore, because shes doesnt ACT like she has one! The quality of writing is also very poor (I mean, I'm not comparing against myself, I'm just a crappy FF writer, I dont really care if my writing is all that good, but JP gets paid money to write, and we deserve alot better from him). He can write dialogue, alright, but everything else-descriptions, emotions, feelings, and shit-are all watered down until you don't even have multi-faceted emotions! And are stuck in a cliche background! Its ridiculous! The Maximum Ride series has really just stretched way too far along than neccessary and should've just ended after the 3rd book. At least those are exciting. The last two have just killed it all for me. I'm going to pretend I havent read it._**

**_Rant end. Sorry! Review please!  
_**


	23. Choosing

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in_ _nature,_ _and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: Choosing**

That night, Fang came into my room, still as night, like he was.

He slid in beside me and took me to cradle me in his arms, and I sighed in a type of desperate relief.

But.. for some reason.. something was missing. He was still, quiet, as silent as the night air.. but he was also very thin.

Not physically of course, but his presence—it was incredibly thin.

As if something was on his mind and it was preventing him from devoting full attention to whatever this is—what we were supposed to be falling asleep into.

It was strange, and rather unsettling.

Although he was holding me, cradling me in his arms, both of them around me and laying on the bed.. he kept me at a distance from his chest.

I wasnt about to go and pull myself forward into it though. I wasn't that desperate.. but it really bothered me.. that he wasn't making an effort to get me closer to him.. like he always did.

There was a distance.

And although I know he hadnt gone to sleep, I didn't know what to do about it. He was holding me, affectionately, like he always did, but.. there was a distance.

And he wasnt falling asleep.

If he fell asleep, maybe itd all get sorted out in the nighttime by natural instinct. But.. he wasn't falling asleep. Just laying close, his arms around me, but not.. _close_.

What was wrong with him? But the ice was spread thin. I knew he cared for me after what he had done today—the whole regretable guilt-trip ride written all over his face after I had screamed at him outside of the cafeteria—but why was he being like _this_?

What had changed?

An hour and a half later, and our position hadn't changed. I had begun to feel dreary, overcome by the long hard day of school and all my emotional thoughts pondering Fang's emotional whereabouts.. but sleep still hadnt come.

What was worse and more awkward than that—our position hadn't even changed. I can imagine how tensed his muscles would be. Afterall, I was laying on of his arms as they both circled me. We were facing eachother on our sides, but his arm beneath me must be numb by now. Usually he didn't keep himself like that for such a long while (inevitably, it getting uncomfortable for him), but now, he didn't change.

And, although I was growing weary and sleepy, I had noticed he still didn't sleep. He was still lying there, wide awake, even though my body must be crushing his left forearm by now. He was still and silent as he always was at night.

"Why aren't you going to sleep?" he suddenly asked.

His voice wasn't gruff, like it always was whenever he spoke at night around me. It gave clue that he hadnt even fallen slightly asleep in all this time. It was clear, distinct, awake. But emotionless.

I moaned slightly, answering him, "You're not either."

"I was going to go back to sleep after you fell."

"Why?"

"Because."

"You'd be here anyway, to sleep."

"Not here."

"Then?"

"In my own room."

"Oh."

There was a pause. I was still cradled in his arms. But he was going to go to his own room to sleep after I had fallen asleep?

"Why?"

"Just because."

"Because?"

"Your mom might find us."

I went silent.

We had never mentioned that. Sure, we both knew, but neither of us had ever.. made it clear as the light of day, that that was a concern. And now Fang said it, clearly, without any type of hesitance.

Without shame, or even a second glance or thought. As if it was just a normal concern we spoke out loud everyday.

But it wasn't. We never acknowledged that fact clearly; that there were implications that might be taken in by the rest of the family by our sleeping together at night. We just didnt want to mention it.

It was awkward.

It was better left unspoken.

And now he just said it.

I shrugged myself off away from him. It automatically made everything feel.. shameful.. And I hated the fact that he didn't even care—that he broke the rule—that he mentioned it out loud. And he didn't even care.

It was nothing to him. Not even a priority.

I could swear I almost hear an undistinguishable sigh and breath of relief at that action of me moving off him. It made my anger flare—it was a _relief _to him that I wasn't even slightly close to him now_—_now there was no one to hinder his arm.

"Just go now," I said, trying to keep my anger within the contingencies of my voice, but I doubted Fang missed the lace of jealous anger in my voice.

But staring at my dark back, he just lay there. Decidedly making no move to get up.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Ask yourself that."

"Why?"

"Just go."

"No."

"I said you can—"

"—Max."

"What?" I snapped at him. I had finally sat up to sit at the edge of my bed, my shins dangling off the side. He was still laying at the other side.

"Whats wrong with you?" he asked.

"Whats wrong with _me_?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing. You're getting on my nerves."

"Lets just go to sleep."

"Go to sleep by yourself."

"Why?"

I didn't answer him, and Fang made a move to get up. It made me regret it instantly, but once he got close to the door, he made a comment.

"Sorry."

"Whatever," I replied in anger, but just as he was about to leave, I couldn't keep it in.

"Why?" I asked. Why was he sorry?

"I'm not sure" he said quietly, and sounded quite confused himself.

"Why?" I asked more quietly this time, "Why were you holding me differently?"

I didnt think he'd hear the last question. It was imperceptably low and quiet.

"You disliked it?" He asked after a long quiet moment. Then he sighed.

"I thought we should distance ourselves a little bit more these days," he commented, still standing near the door.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why?" I asked him again, angerously this time. Why was he evading my question?

"We're going to school now," he answered, but I failed to see what that had to do with anything.

"So?"

"More chances your mom might find us," he replied. But somehow, I got the feeling he was hesitating—that he was lying. That there was a deeper reason he was being like this.

"She won't. And you're my brother after all."

"Max" he replied suddenly. I paused as I stared at him, waiting for him to explain.

"Brothers _don't _hold sisters in that way," he embellished. "Brothers hold their _lovers_ that way."

I paused.

"So?"

"Go ask Iggy to hold you that way," he said.

That pulled me back a few notches.

"No, come on, lets sleep" I said. I didn't care.

I didn't care what Fang was saying.

I just wanted to lie there like that with him and fall asleep.

I got up and pulled him back to the bed. I arranged our limbs, and I could feel how physically, mentally, emotionally exhausted he was after all this and this entire day. He had even stayed up the entire night, completely alert, after all. He just let me move him.

So we fell back asleep, in quiet comfort and silence, his arms wrapped around me. Clutching the back of my hips tightly with his fingernails. I could feel the hardness of his teeth even through his skin as his face pressed against my neck. That was how close we were. It was a painful, hard, masochistic type of close.

Almost as if he'd wanted to hurt me as much as he could in our embracing and in our closeness. As if he was dying for it. As if _I_ was dying for it, because afterall, I was doing the exact same thing.

We woke up in the morning, still wrapped together intensely—more intensely than we'd ever been, and in the same position as last night. The window led sunlight streaming into the room.

And above all, the point was that he was still there. Not gone, like he'd usually have been at this time, fleeing from my Mom checking the room every now and then in the mornings. He was still there, his face as close as it had been to mine as last night, when we'd fallen asleep so close to one another in anger.

And I knew he had done it purposely.

But I glanced at the door, and it was locked. He had done it purposely, and had made sure it was locked.

But still, it didnt change the fact that he had done it purposely. It almost made me sick to my stomach. What was he doing? What was he trying to prove?

There was a knock on my door. My eyes widened considerably; Fang was still asleep next to me, gripping me tightly, almost with the intension of inflicting pain unto me. I heard the voice behind it.

"Max," the voice called out. Fuck—it was Jeb. He _never_ came to wake me up.

"Max, why is your door locked?" he continued, "Wake up Maximum, you're late for school. Fang's already left, and Ella too."

The knocking grew a little more insistent, as my heart began palpitating loudly. But then he finally gave up and left. I breathed a sigh of relief, the fear that was going through my heart at that time was unexplicable.

Fang had woken up too, at Jeb's voice. His eyes were open and wide awake as he stared at the side of my hips, which were beside the side of his head now, as I was sitting up in bed.

"Fang, we're late for school," I said in a rush as I quickly got out of bed. My little sister had already left, no doubt she'd try to wake me up too. How could I not have heard it.

I jumped to my closet and pulled two pieces of clothing out, starting to dress strategically without moving any article of clothing. Fang watched me juggle around clothes as I nimbly dressed locker-room perfectly in front of him. I ran a comb through my hair perfectly and then grabbed my backpack, rushedly checking through its contents to make sure I had everything I absolutely needed.

I glanced up at the clock. It was 16 minutes into first period. If I rushed, I could get in time for my second period Chem class.

"Fang!" I exclaimed, seeing that he was idly watching me from the position he had been laying on in my bed for the past 10 minutes now.

"Get ready! We're late!"

"It'll take me less time than you. I'll see you at school" he said. And then I realized what he was meant: Jeb couldn't catch him leaving.

Feeling irritation in the back of my head somehow, I nevertheless nodded and rushed back out the door, closing it behind me carefully.

Normally, Id feel really hesitant about leaving Fang in my room, _alone_, but I knew there was nothing I could about this situation. He'd better not go through any of my stuff though, but I'd doubt he would. He wouldnt have time to, anyway.

* * *

I sighed a breath of relief as our new science teacher, Mr. Scott, started the lecture, smiling at all of us. He was pretty nice. Best of all, I wasn't late to his class.

I had come into English 35 minutes late, but I got over the embarressment and had sat down next to be usual seat next to Iggy in class.

I noted that Fang would probably already by in 2nd period class already too; afterall, even if he'd taken his time getting ready and sneaking past Jeb in the house, he still would've gotten here in time for 2nd period.

I glanced at Iggy grinning at me from across the table. This class was such a breeze for him, it was probably painful easy. But the school made him take it 'cause it was a required course for all high schoolers our age in the state of CA; he'd negotiated with the schedule planners to let him take some advanced courses on top it though. Apparently he was in the same AP Physics class as Fang, who was accelerated in himself. But Iggy's juggling with required courses and accelerated courses (for recreation) made it so that he was left with utterly no free periods in his schedule. Except for lunch of course, which he spent with me. But the only classes we had in common was this chem class and our 1st period english class.

I was hoping after the first few weeks of school Iggy would request to change his schedule and drop some classes again, after he'd begin to realize that he couldnt possibly handle this much amount of schoolwork—seriously, _no_ free periods? At all? That was killer insane. I had no idea how he'd manage to handle it.

And suddenly the door opened and a strange, tall figure walked in, glancing silently at the top of the door and matching it again against a small piece of paper.

It was Fang, and his hair was insanely messed up, splayed up all over his head and sticking up in all directions. He looked like he had just gotten up from bed—which, I knew, was probably the real case—but I wondered why he was showing up _so_ late. And also, why in _this_ classroom.

Somehow, though, the disorganization of his hair gave him a type of handsome appeal. The kid who didn't care, and showed up late into the middle of class.

His clothing looked nonchallant, uncaringly worn, layered in different shades of dark hues, just hanging off his lithe frame. But his face a blank slate of indifference that most teachers would see as rebellious or disrespectful.

He didn't look neat at all though—

"_Omg, he's so _hot_!" _I heard a girly voice behind me whisper. I shook my head. What shallow bums.

But Mr. Scott wasn't like one of those teachers who would frown and scowl at him. His hand had been poised over the chalkboard with a piece of chalk in his hands writing down notes, but he paused to turn to Fang's entranceway at the door. Mr. Scott's face turned into a large welcoming smile from one of his small initial 'O' of surprise and he let go of the chalk he had been jotting down notes with on the board. He walked closer to the center of the class and smiled greatly.

"Hi!" he welcomed, smiling, "You must be Fang."

Fang stared at him, nodding, "Is this room 223?"

"Yes, it is, Welcome, Fang, to Advanced Placement Chemistry."

"Thanks" he replied politely. Then he finally glanced around the rest of the classroom to look around at the kids there. I saw Iggy in my peripheral vision start grinning immensely widely at the mention of Fang's name joining this classroom. I, on the otherhand, was just confused. Wasn't Fang accelerated in science? Didn't Massachussetts high schools set you up to take AP Chem in 10th grade? Thats what Fang had done. Why would he need to repeat a course he'd already completed?

He glanced at me and at my table, which had Iggy, and my friend Nudge in it. There was an empty seat left next to Iggy.

"Guys, this will be your student intern from this point on in this class," Mr. Scott announced jovially, stretching a hand out to usher Fang into the classroom from the doorway.

_Student intern?_ I knew for sure Fang wasn't old enough for _that_. What was Mr. Scott talking about? There was collective murmur from the class.. but Mr. Scott continued.

"He's auditing our class this year, so if you guys ever need help with work or any extra tutoring, you can go to him and ask him for help," Mr. Scott explained. Then he looked down to his desk to check the attendance sheet.

"Oh, they haven't put you on the attendance sheets yet. I'll add you in—whats your last name?" he asked Fang.

"Ride. Ni—Fang Ride."

I noticed the slip up, and felt immediately bad for some strange reason. Like it was _my_ fault, even though it obviously wasn't. Mr. Scott jotted down the name on the attendance sheet and then looked up.

"Any relation to Max Ride?" he asked good-naturedly. Fang turned to me, and our eyes met. They connected fiercely, with a blazing fire. He hadn't looked me in the eye at all since a full yesterday; last night.. had been.. just weird.

"He's my—" I began.

"No."

I paused at Fang's interruption. So did the entire class in fact. I could feel Nudge groan, and Iggy's brows furrow in confusion at Fang's comment. His eyes were still on mine.

Mr. Scott looked up in confusion, glancing at me and then at Fang staring at me. He was a nice teacher, but could notice something awkward and when it was happening, and chose to abruptly change the topic.

"Well, then!" he interrupted jovially, pretending nothing strange had just happened, "You can take a seat—" before Fang cut him off again.

"Kidding" Fang's voice slowly drawled out again suddenly. His eyes were still watching my own. For some reason, underneath that stare, I felt my heart nearly skip a beat. "We're related. She's my sister."

Mr. Scott looked up again, happily, but then a question flickered over his face,

"So they told me you were from Mass—"

The confusion was expected from him. We didn't really look alike, and how could we possibly be in the same grade if we were siblings?

"Half-brother and sister," Fang corrected mildly, as he walked past Mr. Scott to take a seat.

Any other teacher would throw a fit. Fang had already rudely interrupted him three times within 2 minutes of his introduction. But Mr. Scott didn't seem to mind, throwing him a smile as he waited for Fang to get to his seat.

But to everyone's surprise, although he landed at the seat on the empty table Iggy, Nudge, and I were sitting at, he didn't sit down.. The empty seat was besides Iggy and across the square table from me, but we all watched curiously as he just put his backpack down on the seat and then abruptly left. He crossed his way to the back of the classroom and went on to perch himself onto the counter at the back of the lab. He stared at everyone silently once he had gotten himself up there.

"You may continue."

Mr. Scott looked befuddled for a second, staring at Fang, who had just directed him to do something. Just when Mr. Scott looked like he was about to say something, Fang cut in, once again.

"Like you said, I'm _auditing_ this class. No tests. No notes, assignments. As long as I know everything, I'm good." He paused. "Right? So I just have to listen."

That was the most I'd heard Fang utter in forever. But he made a point. The other people in the class were staring at Fang with utter envy, sheer jealously, and even near admiration.

He seemed pretty in charge. Pretty cool. Nonchallant. In control of himself. And others.

Even with the nicest teacher ever, like Mr. Scott, he was still acting his own way.

Mr. Scott was surprised for a moment, staring at Fang's form perched ontop of the back counter all the way at the back of the class, and then nodded silently and hesitantly.

I guess he wasn't used to students treating him this way. People were usually as nice as heck to him, because he was nice as heck back.

Iggy was practically _glowing_ at Fang's defiance, sitting across from me. I shook my head confusedly at him, while Nudge grinned. She apparently liked my new brother a lot. Iggy was practically enthralled as well.

And as I looked around, so was just about everybody else.

I didn't know how I felt about that.

* * *

Fang was quickly gaining the favor of just about everybody in the upper grades. And the lower ones as well, I noted. Ella's popularity was skyrocketing and elevating to the highest levels as well, as he hung around with her.

I noticed that Iggy and I were silly to think Fang would need our help to have friends. Sure everyone knew about him because of us, but everyone wanted to _get to know him_ because of _his personality._

He hadn't needed any help. People were swarming after him, trying to get to know that new guy. And I guess the most thrilling part of it all was the fact that he was less eager to get to know them at all.

He honestly just didn't seem to care.

And somehow.. that turned me off. Why? Because.. because, he was just so _Fang_.

He was the exact same way he was to me, as he was to everybody else. Why did that completely bother me?

It was as if he _knew_ everyone was dying to meet him, get to know him. He _knew_ he was the center of attention, and chose to ignore it.

It could be seen as actually something just downright obnoxious. But I put it out of my mind. Mind over matter.

Afterall, what could I complain about? We still slept together at night. Laying together, close and tight embellished within one another. He was still affectionate like that.

But.. but why was his meandering blasé nature attracting _so_ many people?

It was just confusing to me. Didn't they see how obnoxious he was?

At first it had just pissed me off, but now I knew he acted that way with everybody else, I felt silly for flaring up at him so bad in the beginning of summer when I'd noticed that.

This was just _him_, not _me_.

And other people were attracted to him _because_ of that. Whereas.. I'd just gotten flustered and icky.

Man, there was something wrong with me.

I tried to distance myself from Fang as much as I could the first few weeks of school, but it didn't help as I noticed he didn't care much either.

It sort of bothered me.

Sam's group were trying to flock to him and gather him in their circle.

I heard he'd already been invited to like 3 parties. 6 if you count the upcoming ones.

I wondered if he'd go. Although I wasn't close friends with any of them, I was invited to go if I wanted to—just because I was part of the athletics team and crowd, they all knew me.

But I never did. Never wanted to. Never interested in. That just wasn't me.

I wasn't into drinking alcohol and smoking. Even though I knew that was not all they did at those parties—afterall, Nudge went a few times too—I just felt _weird_ getting into a crowd like that.

Nudge tried to convince me that going to _one_ or two parties did not mean you were in any type of "crowd" at all, but I still refused to. I felt like I would just be changed dramatically if I did.

As for Iggy, his persuasions were lost on me just as well and the same. But he liked me more than he liked the rest of his friends, so he wouldnt go anymore unless I'd go with him. Thats what he said to me. Although I didn't care much for the vow, I know that I wouldve been mad if he had gone anyway. I appreciated it somewhere deeply in the center of my heart, though I couldnt bear to admit it and say it aloud.

But as I noticed, Fang didn't go.

He'd spend every night, laying in my arms (or vice versa), and digging his head deep into his skin.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Much to Max's disdelight, the_ peace _is going to come to an end soon. The story is going to get_ really_ angsty,_ really_ fast, starting from the next chapter. This will be a relief to those of you who think its been going slow so far for a while now.  
Also, I read the **Hunger Games** by Suzanne Collins. The books are GREAT! :D Know any other books similar to that?**

**Also, you guys dont review as much anymore :( But thanks to all who do! It makes me update faster!**

**I got alot of offers for betas. So how about this? If you are interested in being a beta, just take a chapter-ANY Chapter, from this entire story (I strongly suggest they be one of the later chapters), and edit it however you want to. :] Leave me a review or message me so that I can initiate a doc-exchange and read what youve done on one of my existing chapters. The person whose editing I like best will get the Chapter 24 sent to them earlier and within the next few days!  
**


	24. The Repercussions of Choosing

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in_ _nature,_ _and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Repercussions of Choosing**

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The night was still; he was breathing deep as he kissed me.

Languid and slow, the pads of his fingers still on my waist, as his mouth wreaked havoc on my own.

He kissed me. He didn't care. He didn't care for the repercussions of it.

It was like he was doing it for dare, maybe. I didn't mention it though.

The feelings that were running through me were uncomfortable. I didn't like to entertain those thoughts, even consider the possibilities, so I didn't say anything, and let him continue kissing me.

So he kept on doing it. It was slow and subtle, but really casual and warm.

It was nothing passionate—which is why I say that it felt like he didn't care. At least, not on a deeper level. It wasn't like the first time he had kissed me and it had been deep and heavy and _filled_ with _some_thing. This was unlike that. No passion, eager excitement. No wanting from his part. Just.. kissing.

Lying still on the bed, our fronts facing eachother, one hand resting ontop of the side of my waist, he kissed me. For a long time.

They weren't lust-filled—like Iggy's were—not even very eager or coaxing. It was slow.

Like he was doing it for fun.

It didn't feel fun in the way _Iggy's_ lips felt when he wanted to have fun.

I didn't feel fireworks rocket up my abdomen, or single sparkly feelings on my fingertips. I didn't get excited when he kissed me, not in the way Iggy made me feel nervous and awake and self-conscious. I was always constantly wondering if I could measure up to all of his past girlfriends. I was always excited when he touched me. But Fang wasn't like that. He didn't make me feel like that.

Fang didn't do it for the _exciting_ fun, but for the 'this just feels good' fun.

And it _did_ feel good. So _good_.

Which is why I kept on letting him do it.

He knew that was why I enjoyed it. Because he knew it felt really good.

That was why he was kissing me, to make me feel good. And not for anything else.

So thats why it wasn't passionate at all, but instead languid.. and slow.. and comfortable.

Thats why he kissed me _that _way. Thats why the kisses were.. _comfortable_.

His eyes were closed as he was doing this, but for a second I opened mine to see his face while he was doing his work. His right hand still laying over my waist like it normally did—except this time, now his lips were on mine. It was amazing how casual he was about all of this. Like it didn't matter.

I suppose that was my fault though—I was the one who acted like it didn't matter. Initially.

So now.. it _really_ didn't matter.

To him.

So I opened my eyes and looked at him. But he.. his face didn't betray any emotion on his part.

So I closed my eyes again and just let him keep on kissing me.

But his lips felt good on mine.

The way he moved them.

His lower lips would arch up past his upper ones, rubbing his lips against mine with his mouth pouting like that—it felt good because he went _so _slow. The rhythm he set in.. made me feel rockets spiral up my stomach, but he ignored it. Oh, the _rhythm. _It made me want to just _die_. But he didn't let me move away, because he knew I wanted to _keep _feeling good.

And he kept on doing so, so slow and languid and casual, that it felt so _great_. He _knew_ I enjoyed it. He would rub his bottom lip against the two of mine together—going up and down all at once with just his bottom one—slowly, but gently—and then open his mouth to capture the corner of my mouth between his lips again. And then he'd go back down and rub his bottom lip against just my upper.

And.. and it just made me want to die.

30 minutes of that every day. Sometimes even 2 hours, on nights when sleep just wouldn't come to us.

It just made me feel so good—it was so _comfortable_—that was the reason he didn't make it passionate at all.

_He _wasn't passionate at all.

That was why I didn't get scared at all when he first did it. It was smooth and casual. Like he didn't care at all.

That was why I kept on letting him do it. It just felt good.

So for the next few nights, we would be kissing for long whiles, the feel of another's lips on mine in the dark of the night, before beckoning sleep. We'd fall asleep with our lips leaning against the sides of eachother's faces and wake up like that. It just felt good. Nothing too intense, no repurcussions. Just.. how Fang was.

In the dark, it felt even better. Maybe cause it didn't really feel real. Cause we couldn't see anything.

Was this making out? Maybe. Maybe. But it didn't really matter to us.

We didn't talk about this.

We just did it.

And I don't think it was that major of a step anyway—not in the way he was doing it. I didn't even realize it at first because it was so casual.

It was just so _comfortable_. So thats why it didn't quite feel.. real_. _

Also, it wasn't anything better or worse than him hugging me so tightly I'd feel pinch marks on my skin in the daytime after. If anything, this was much better than that, and I preferred it much more to the sadistic touches he was never aware of—how he'd made me feel like in the summer time before school.

Now.. this was just kissing. Slow, careful, _gentle_, kissing in the nighttime, before we'd fall asleep. Nothing special or rough or significant.

But Fang wouldn't talk to me much in front of Iggy—at least not in the close way he'd talk in front me when we were all alone. (I don't mean at night though—we didn't talk when we were together at night). By alone, I meant like in the living room of our house, watching tv. Doing normal, casual stuff. We would be on seperate couches, but he would speak as if he _really_ knew me—as if we were just normal siblings—in situations like that. I liked that.

In front of Iggy though, he was always quiet, reserved, watching carefully, never saying much.

And also, whenever Iggy was around, there was always that _look_ in his eyes, the one that said, '_We do _stuff_ at night,' _that was never there when we were just with one another.

When we were all alone by ourselves, say just in the living room, watching tv, sitting across the room from eachother, he would just pretend like nothing special or significant has ever happened between us. Like we were just normal, complacent, 16-and-17 year old siblings.

But when we were in _crowds_ of people, he would always give me _that look_. That _look_ that reminded me of what we did at night, even if he never mentioned it out loud in any other time.

Like he just _had_ to remind me.

So that was why I didn't like to be around Fang in daylight around other people.

He always made me feel guilty. _Embarrassed_.

_Ashamed _of myself. Like he did it on purpose.

I would always look away, refuse to meet his glance, but I still couldn't escape his dark, vindictive, accusing eyes boring into my skin. Its like he was _accusing_ me. Making me feel dirty, ashamed.

He seemed like a different person—so different from the person I knew at night—so different from the person I ate dinner across from the dinner table with Mom—so different from the person who would laugh at ridiculous warner brothers cartoon reruns on tv from the couch across from me—he was just.. _different._ Even in the way that people viewed him.

Maybe that was what affected the way he acted.

He was so exalted in our high school, yet he was so reserved. Its like all the attention specifically made him clamp up and stay away.

Which was weird, I thought, considering I knew for sure that he seemed like the type of guy who would thrive underneath attention—like the type of guy who knew how to keep it under his control. So why would he clamp up underneath the attention John Browning High School kids were giving him?

Why was he so different around _other_ people? It was like there were two sides of him, one that I didn't even know, and the other I was seriously beginning to wonder was real.

And all of a sudden, I felt like I didn't know him all over again.

The way he held me at night—kissed me at night—yet he acted so nonchallant and blasé in real life.

I didn't know what to think.

He wasn't like Iggy, who would make me feel sparks fly up my abdomen when he kissed me. But _Fang_ was someone I now knew I could not live without anymore.

I definitely could not live without him anymore.

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**Author's Note**_:_

_**Thanks for all the reviews guys! :) **_

_**Also for all the suggestions! **_

_**Sorry for the late update-my FINALS are finally almost nearly over! TONS OF QUICK UPDATES TO COME THIS SUMMER.**_

_**And I'd really like to get up to 800 reviews on this chapter ;] That would be just awesome! Even if you hated it, tell me what you thought!  
**_


	25. Sick of it

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: Sick of it**

She made her choice. Maybe she didn't know it at all, but she made my choice, provoked me to that resolve.

I had been sick of it. What did she think she was playing at here?

I knew it was wrong—I _knew_, so I had pulled away that night. I had used harsh and mean excuses, insulting phrases, and she had been hurt. Its what I had meant to do, but she had pulled me back anyway. Had killed my efforts to distance myself from her.

Did she understand what that meant? Yes, she did, but she wouldn't admit it.

She wanted to play it that way? Reaping both the fruits of an agreement as well as ignorance? Well I wouldn't play it that way. I could make her hurt and hate me. I would make her forget her ignorance—_force _her to stop putting up that innocence wall.

I pulled away that night, no longer wanting lie next to her while she was feigning innocence. But she had pulled me back. That was it. That was my resolve. She wouldn't admit it, but she would have to eventually.

I made my choice—_she _made _my _choice. Since she pulled me back into bed that night after I'd tried to pull away, I was determined—determined to make her _hurt_. To make sure she _hated_ my embraces. To make her _want _to go away. She was an innocent creature in nature, and contaminating her with the implications of our arrangement would be something horrible of me to do. So she needed to want to get away from me.

But she didn't. She stayed anyway, suffered through those long painful night of the pads of my thumbs pressing painfully into her hips. She stayed through it.

She didn't see it, she was _torturing_ me. Everything I was trying to do was for her own good, but even if I worked for my _own_ good, she would _still_ be torturing me.

_I was sick of it_.

You'd have to masochistic, completely self-sacrificing and have a penchant for pain, in order to put up with the situation I was putting up with. So I just wanted to distance myself from her. It would be the best for both of us.

Besides, what was she thinking she was doing? Flaunting her relationship with Iggy in front of my face at lunchtime. Showing his hands over her waist in public at lunchtime, while I'd just sit there across from her. She got the best of both worlds, didn't she?

Well she couldn't have it. She couldn't ignore _us. _I realize the idea of "_us" _would naturally need to be kept secret, but she couldn't ignore the existence of "_us_" in front of _me_!

That was permission she was giving me, that night. She didn't know it, but it pissed me off in epic proportions. She was so single-track minded. It was so ridiculous how friggin _stupid_ she was. Did she really think it was all innocent and alright?

She wouldn't even acknowledge it. She knew. I _know_ she _knew_ the implications of what we were doing. Since that night she had come into my room late that night in august, beckoning me to come into her room late at night after her mom and parents and sister had already gone to sleep, she _knew_ why this was a secret. She knew _all_ the implications of all of what we were doing.

But she didn't want to admit. She didn't want to push it. She hated me for mentioning it too.

And I was pretty damn sick of it. I couldn't keep my mind off of her; don't get me wrong though, it was just my _anger_ towards her.

She deserved to be faced with reality for once. She couldn't get the best of both worlds. It was wreaking havoc on _me_ from the inside, so I wanted to distance myself from her. She was no good for me, and just gave me more unnecessary problems than I needed. I'd be selfish for once.

I realized that she really _was _what I had initially thought her to be—a spoiled, prissy little princess. And that by sleeping with her at night, I was _spoiling _her by letting her stay _happy _and ignorant. Staying at the status quo and letting it go _her_ way.

_No_, I was _sick _of it.

She needed to stop having things go her fucking way. She needed to face the repercussions of her actions some time, sooner or later. And I didn't need to be the person to give it to her, but I sure as well wasn't going to appease her. She was spoiled, and I was going to stop spoiling her. She really needed to face reality.

That night, I laid down in her bed and put my hands around her waist, like I always did, but I was distancing myself from her. Making her ready to let go.

Her complaints only angered me more though. And then she'd made me come back to her bed.

Its not that I didn't want to, but I _wanted_ her to let go of me. She wasn't willing to admit why she wanted me there, but she wanted me there. Selfish on her part, right?

She wanted it? She wanted more of me? Well she'd get all of it. She couldn't just do what she wanted all the time. I'd do what _I'd_ want to now.

She pulled me back that night, and she'd made her choice. She wanted me here? Well she'd have to face the repurcussions of her actions. She'd made the choice herself.

So the next night, I'd sat there for a second before I decidedly sunk into the covers and pushed her gently towards me.

And then I started kissing her.

Why? Cause _that_ was what _this_ meant.

Why? Because I wanted to. I wanted to kiss her. Normally, casually. I wanted her to feel me—all of me—and I hoped that she would feel that.

They weren't intense or scary. They were apathetic. Friendly. But still kisses.

She wanted comfort, right? That was the point of our whole relationship. Feeling normal, casual, together.

And kissing.. it felt normal and casual to me. It felt normal and casual to want to do it with her.

Its not that no feelings were involved.. there were tons of feelings on my side. Unadultered feelings and secret desires, but I didn't let them seep through. I knew I couldnt. I didn't let her see it. I just kissed her. Simply.

I kissed her all night long. Hoping to make her forget about Iggy in my kisses.

Just feel _me_, for once.

At least in the night, it was _just me_.

It was intimate thing, really. Kissing in the middle of night for hours on end. Slowly and seriously. I never got it hormonal though, never let it go to tongue. She would never want that, anyway. Not from me. It was just lip. Rubbing noses against cheeks whilst touching lips. Small, slow, affectionate, apathetic, yet serious kisses. Quiet ones. On-and-off ones.

It was a stress-reliever. I could get rid of everything in the day by kissing her at night. All my frustrations in simple, sweet, apathetic kisses.

Although in my mind I had done it out of anger—initiated that first kiss out of anger—I figured out soon later that my desire to kiss her had nothing to do with my resent and 'teaching her a lesson.' I figured out later that I was a victim of human psychology. I hurt her in my embraces to see if she'd go away. And then I'd begun to kiss her slowly and languidly to see if she'd be willing to face it.

And she didn't shirk away. It surprised me.

And then it turned into more.. the kisses comforted _me_, in the small ways that it did. I didn't want her to get scared off or push me out of bed, but I wanted her to _like_ it. I wanted her to _like_ it so much that she couldn't help but come back for her. The soft, slow, sweet caresses... I did it purposely.

I wanted her to _love_ it. I wanted her to _feel good_. Comfortable, casual in my embrace, while we did something _lovers _usually do. And she did. She loved it. I could tell. Those casual, simple, apathetic brushes against her lips. The soft gentle rubbing against her lips. I wanted her to become _so_ dependant on me and the _love _the way I made her feel—that comfort—that only came from me.. maybe _hate_ herself for liking it too. Make herself conflicted.

Like I was.

Afterall, I knew how Max worked. She was a victim of her own emotions—natural, carefree, unadultered. She never thought twice about what she was feeling, but always acted and reacted on instinct. She felt what she experienced on the surface. It was something that I envied and was what captivated me about her immediately—the ease in which her emotions showed through. It was so transparent.

I, on the other hand, analyzed situations as much as I could before acting on them. I knew that my relationship with her was tied on by strings and I could detach myself as easily as I could attach them. Her longing, and my indulging of her desires, was just equivalent to my curiosity. But I didn't need her. I only continued humoring her because I liked sleeping with her.

It was comfortable to me after all, too. She eased my nightmares and of memories of my parents; a good distraction; but I was in no way attached to her.

What angered me was that although I _knew_ that she knew implications of this relationship, she refused to admit or show that she knew too.

What if I _was_ attached to her? (I wasn't attached to her of course, but it was the _idea_ of the thing). She couldn't play me this way.

I was _fine_ with her ignoring it, as long as she would bear the fruits of what would happen if it would go away. That night I had held her at a distance from me, hoping to distance myself from her. I knew that I did not _need_ it, and since she refused to acknowledge the implications, I assumed that she did not _need_ it either. But instead, she had pulled me back that night.

So it angered me that _she_ wanted to be near me. Make me feel this way—those flashes of jealousy in the cafeteria as I saw her with Iggy—while _acting _completely attached. It was the logic of the thing—why _should_ _she_ get the best of both worlds while _I_ had to suffer?

So I tried to hurt her at night, with painfully tight embraces, to see if she'd withstand that masochistic type of pain. But she didn't go away.

And the next night, I had thought it through. And I'd kiss her. She wouldn't be able to escape the implications afterwards.

But she didn't let go like I thought she would. She didn't get scared. So I kept on kissing, carefully, gently.

Two or three weeks of this, and I had found myself at an ease—a standstill.

I was no longer jumpy and angry. I was happy now, satisfied. Because that type of thing—kissing for hours straight—was something that was enough to please me. My own type of closeness to Max that even she knew about it too. I was happy. Satisfied. Iggy had nothing on that. That was just mine.

I liked kissing her, slowly, softly through the night. I made sure it was nothing too intense, languid, but still _kissing_. It was still kissing. We kissed eachother at night.

And just one look at her across the cafeteria in the morning, just _one_ glance, would be enough to remind her of what we did at night. She couldn't deny it. It was on her ashamed blushes.

Ashamed. It was okay if she was ashamed of me. As long as I knew she liked it.

Weeks of kissing eachother at night had changed my resolve for Max. Now, I no longer cared about getting her on edge, sucking up to Jeb and getting on her nerves just for the pleasure of seeing her ticked off. I even stopped sending her guilt-inducing glared across the lunch table when she was with Iggy.

Now, all I cared about was making her feel good. She was the kind of soul you wanted to take care of, protect, because she was so easily a victim of her own feelings and emotions.

And eventually, it made me feel all the worse for what I was doing with her.

At first, I had thought she had been playing me. But now.. now, I was playing _her_.

I didn't want to do it anymore though, but I wanted to keep on making her feel good, because I knew she enjoyed it and I knew she wanted it.

I kept on doing it. But I eased back. I wouldn't pressure her to do anything else. I knew and realized that kissing her was bad, getting her addicted to it was bad, but I looked past it, because at least..

At least it was platonic. Although I kissed her languidly, I made sure that she could see through it as platonic. Kissing was to satiate me, make _me_ feel better. It was just the _act _of kissing that made me feel better, so it was okay if it wasn't passionate. But she didn't need to feel the same way if she didn't want to. Which is why I kept it platonic. Enjoyable and nice, but comforting.

That was what our relationship was based on, wasn't it? Just comforting.

* * *

Fang took a sigh as he thought over all the implications of his relationship with Max. He knew he thought too much. It would be the end of him someday. But at least he enjoyed it now.

And Max, although she saw it as platonic (though she had to be _insufferably stupid_ to see something as _kissing_ as platonic, Fang thought), he didn't put it past her. It was, afterall, incredibly easy to see that as.. _sisterly_. Messed up sisterly, but whatever. More sisterly than foreplayish.

In fact, he was _afraid_ of it seeming as foreplayish, which is why he had gone about his plan in that method in the first place.

It was nothing to stop and nothing intense or _horribly_ guilt-riding, because it was so languid and casual. So Fang felt very little hesitance in order to stop doing it, and was pretty sure this platonic thing was the adequate type of standstill their nocturnal visits needed in order to keep a successful status quo.

Afterall, she liked sleeping with him, and he liked kissing her. Nothing intense involved either.

He had no desire to get intense with her. No one would want to be intense with a girl who didn't reciprocate.

He wouldn't want to either way though, he said in his head.

It was true. At first the point of kissing Max had been sort of a punishment for her—not something he had laboriously wanted—but now it became as natural and soothing as sleeping beside one another had. Just another one of those things that they enjoyed.

In the back of his mind, he knew siblings shouldn't kiss eachother, but he pushed it out. Afterall, it wasn't sexual, and he didn't want more. He hadn't initiated the kiss with the intention of making it get intense. Just to like.. scare her a bit. And he had no intention to get more out of her. It was just.. like.. something pushing her buttons, had suddenly just developed into routine.

That kiss he had given her before, back in the summertime, against the walls and beside the second floor bathroom.. now he had to admit, that _that_ was full of desire. Something had just _clicked_ in his head once he saw his innocent Max with a slobbering Iggy all over her neck—the same guy that had been planning to get her all summer with intricate plans. It had just pissed him off and made him irked and angry.

But he had long since pushed those desires out of his head and to the back of his mind. He had called the impulsive actions off as simply delusions.

The kisses he gave now were ones he had specifically permissed himself to, not to be mistaken with the first one he had ever given her.

These were.. entirely platonic, and he was sure she was seeing it well. He had no further intentions, and it was just something that they liked to enjoy. He liked to make her feel good.

He was sure she'd see nothing deeper in them, and then again, she _was_ insufferably _stupid_, so he didn't give her much credit to see anything deeper. He was completely fine with the way things were going now, and was sure that at some point they'd even grow out of their kissing phase—grow tired of it as a prelude to their nocturnal embraces. Because although they kissed, the whole point of their nocturnal visits _were_ the embraces while they slept. They'd soon tire of the kisses, and he was fine with accepting that fact. He didn't _need_ the kisses and he was, for once, at ease with his relationship with Max.

The whole kissing thing was just to make sure she saw what was wrong with it. And now that he was sure that she did, he was fine with their nocturnal arrangements of hugging her to sleep at night. The kissing was just habit now, cause it felt good.

* * *

Max watched the outline that his figure in her dark room cross the floor and reach its way into her bed. She sighed happily as she felt his familiar weight fall onto the mattress.

And she was also kind of nervous. Like she was everytime before they'd begin kissing.

She liked it a lot, sure did for sure enjoy it, but it always made her nervous when they'd first start.

Maybe it was because of his nonchallance. It half made her feel unwanted—that she didn't want more.

With Iggy, she knew for sure he wanted more. He was kind of a horny, doggone deprived dog..

But with Fang, it was just really casual and slow. Like he didn't really need _her_ or _it_, but enjoyed it cause it felt nice.

Which is what she did too, she decided with a frown, her eyebrows furrowing. But that was wrong. She knew she needed him now.

But the kisses.. now they made her feel uncomfortable.

At first she enjoyed them, but now its been nearly three weeks of their casual caresses and nighttime arrangement of kissing. And she knew for sure Fang wanted nothing more of her. She knew now that they only kissed because it felt good and was comfortable. It had nothing to do with hidden sexual desire or coveted intentions, like it did with Iggy. She could feel in all of Iggy's physical intentions that he was passionate and desired more.

But that was _exactly_ why, after three weeks, Max was feeling uncomfortable.

Because now.. now _she_ desired more. Not from Iggy, but from Fang.

It made her feel uncomfortable, the casual ease in which he moved and touched her gently and casually. Completely and without thought, just a regular nocturnal routine.

Kissing like a sibling would, but on the lips, slowly and gently, and all night long.

And she wasn't sure.. she was comfortable with it.

So she let him slip into the sheets beside her that night, her body tense and frozen beside him.

He noticed her tenseness and reached over to pull her a bit closer and face him. He found it sort of cute. At this point in their relationship, their was nothing to worry about or think about. That was what he liked best of things over time. It became more and more normal and casual, and induced _a lot_ less thinking and reflecting.

It was a routine now, so he felt it was cute that she was all tensed up for some reason. He knew he'd get her to relax in a second, so he pulled her over to carress her upper arm for a bit, before pressing their lips together.

He was, however, oblivious as to why she had been tense. He hadn't really cared, whatever it was, he knew he could get her to go to sleep soon and relax and _un_-tense in his arms. Their kissing was such a relaxing routine by now, that it was almost sleepily done. Carelessly and thoughtlessly.

He was oblivious to it all.

And while Max kissed him back slowly and languidly, she closed her eyes and decided to take an experimental chance.

He hadn't seen it coming—he had had no thoughts or worries in the world, at least on _this_ subject matter.

But she had suddenly run her tongue over his two lips and starting kissing him deeper, trying to separate them between her own.

It surprised him and opening his eyes suddenly, he pushed her shoulder back a little bit.

That had to be a mistake, right? Just an accident.

Kissing with tongue was something siblings should _definitely_ not do. The platonic kissing he could do, but tongue was something that.. that you just couldn't take back.

She felt him push her off his lips and felt angered at the feeling and the sudden reaction of his. So he could do _all this_ and she couldn't do _that_?

No. Did he _know_ how he made her feel at night? Impish and uncomfortable and uneasy and above all, those silly, petty, little _sparks_ rocket up her abdomen. He was allowed to go ahead and do it with no worries?

While she.. she had to _care_?

So she lunged in and tried to kiss him deeper again. And once again he struggled against it. This time, he had grabbed her hips and pushed her away from him.

"Stop."

She didn't say anything. Just lay there, her breath heaving with her second efforts of trying to kiss him deeper. After a while she spoke.

"Why? Why do you stay like that?"

He thought she was testing him. Why else would she be doing this to him? Fang knew, of course, that she had no desire to go beyond platonic with him (how would it make sense anyway, with him being her half-brother and all?). So she was probably just testing him by doing this.

Cruel bitch, he thought, but it was okay, cause he had figured the little test out. He'd pass it up. Also, he had no particular desire to mess up their current routine, which he was one he was very happy with.

"Like what?"

"Like.. like _that_. I hate you so much. You touch me all night and you kiss me, and you make me feel guilty in real life, but you.. you're horrible."

"I'm not. And I don't do anything to you."

"Yes you do. You do it on purpose. And I hate you."

"You don't."

"Yes, I do."

He decided to humor her. She was like a child. Didn't even know how to play tricks properly on him.

"Fine, whatever.".

"I'm sick of it. You're disgusting. Apathetic and mean and cold."

"I'm not apathetic or mean or cold."

"Then why do you do all this?"

The game was getting old. She was trying to trick him, and he didn't want to say those forbidden words outloud—not at night—_you're my sister_. It would ruin everything. Put both of them on edge. Well, mostly her, but she had enough edge to cover for both of them.

"Max.."

"I hate you."

"Max, you _like _all this."

"Yes, but I hate _you_."

"Fine, why?" He leaned back and away from her, and laid back on a pillow, feigning sleep.

"For doing this. Because.. you don't care. I'm sick of it."

"Of what?"

"Of _you_! I'm sick of you coming into my room every night and doing all this all night and pretending it doesn't matter."

He almost choked at that and sat up, twisting around to face her. _He_ was the one pretending it didn't matter now?

"_You're _the one—"

"—I hate you and how you think its alright to kiss me at night an—"

"—You _like_ it."

"I _know._"

"So?"

"But you don't care at all."

He had been confused about her objective during the entire spanse of the small argument, but he finally understood. He finally _got_ it. His eyes tried to look for her face in the dark. He could just imagine her face now—upset. She sounded upset.

But how could she expect _him _to care? She had a boyfriend, who now considered him his own best friend. She was his sister on a whole other level. And she wanted him to _care_? It would be _masochistic_ of him to _care. _

But beyond all that was the sudden onslaught of all that other info. That _she_ cared. That this wasn't a test, but that _she_ was craving more from him. That it _hurt_ her that he wouldn't give them to her. And the realization.. he didn't like it as much as he thought he would.

Sure, he'd thought about the prospect more than just a few times. But now that he was actually faced with this reality, he felt sick to his stomach.

She _liked_ him.

This was not supposed to be this way. She _couldn't_ like him.

It was alright if he had liked her, but _she_ couldn't like _him_.

Because.. because _he_ liked her too.

The past month had been great. Their soft languid kissing and their sleeping—it had all gone unperturbed. Platonic. Perfectly platonic.

He could resist his desires as long as she didn't like him back.

But now.. now everything was messed up. It was truly, truly fucked up.

But he realized where he had messed up: he had _gotten_ her to like him. And now she was upset and still on her bed because.. because he didn't like her back, yet kept doing this to her at night. Because he was apathetic, while he had gotten her to like him.

Meanstwhile, he had been convincing himself to not care, not think any thoughts of liking her even vaguely.. to _be_ apathetic.

He had been, undeniably; that was the entire point of their arrangement.. for him to seem apathetic and uncaring while they had their nocturnal arrangement.

But now.. now she wanted _more_. And he had no idea what to do with this. It made him sick to his stomach.

They _couldn't_ have more.

He didn't know what to do with this, but she was lying there, upset and disturbed.

So he did what he wanted to. Years later, he would realize that he'd undeniably looked past his better judgment that night, but at the moment, instinct was what had called him in his half-sister's bedroom late that night, when faced with the peculiar and unorthodox situation he was placed in. It was just to make her feel better.

It was just sincerity.

He had just done what he had wanted to. What instinct told him to.

Slowly, he slid back into the covers, his neck resting gently on the pillow, and his hand found the back of Max's own neck, and brought his lips to touch hers in ways that they'd only touched once before, despite their month of kissing nightly.

Their making out wasn't nice or soft or sweet, like how he'd given her his kisses previously. It was harsh and rabid and.. on some level, he didn't like it. It felt foreign, and it was hard to do since he had pushed those feelings out of his head for the longest time.

He was sure he had liked her in this way ages ago, last august maybe, when he'd trapped her between his arms against the stairwell and kissed her forcefully. But his own thought tangents and reflective self-discussions had long since pushed those feelings for her out of his head for ages. It was November now.

But the feeling came back to him easily after a while, to his surprise.

He felt uninhibited. And he _felt_ Max feel joyed.

And that made _him_ feel overjoyed.

He did everything he'd wanted to do for ages before. He ran his hands up her side surely.

And he heard her sigh, uninhibitedly, in his mouth, as they kissed. Not their normal kissing.. but _real_ kissing.

"You think I _didn't _care?" he asked her after a fierce kiss.

His voice was rough, slight, and hoarse from all the deep kissing they'd been doing, and it was so sincere.

It struck him as bizarre for her to think he'd never cared.

He'd cared from day one. More than she'd ever had.. It'd only taken her this long to realize she actually did care. He had known it all along, had tried to distance himself from her. Had kissed her. Had played mind games with her. Pretended he _didn't_ care.

That of all, should show her how much he _did_ care. He had done all that because he had been so confused.

And she thought he was _apathetic_? He had only acted that way.. for her benefit.

They made out like a couple would. Like two, normal, hormonal, deprived teenagers would. On her bed.

Across the halls from their father's study.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This took forever for me to write :( I hope I did it justice.**

**They both realize that they both like eachother now.. So now what will they do? Poor starcrossed lovers.**


	26. Pervert

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Pervert**

The nights went back to normal, Fang thought interestedly.

'Cept, there was a difference now. Small, in retrospect, but huge and in epic proportions if you'd asked either one of them.

It felt completely, utterly, _different_ now.

The making out, they could surely do without—afterall, that _was_ rather tiring to do completely enthusiastically in the middle of the night—but in their embraces, the feeling was completely different.

Now, when he spooned around her, he wasn't afraid to touch where he wanted to touch. He wasn't afraid of all those unspoken boundaries. (That, of course, did not mean he was ready to grope her. She was afterall, still his sister in the back of his mind).

It was.. just the _feeling_, that he _knew_ she didn't mind, that made the entire touch different on his part. The ease and relaxation. Even though the tension grew—on his part—the comfort and feeling of security did too.

The tension, was, of course, caused by other things.. things that usually come up when you know someone else has significant feelings for you, and they know so vice versa about you. That tension was a given, and in all relationships. It was the sticky, impatient, electric current type of tension between them in the beds every night.

But with the tension, came the feeling of relaxation and security.

The embraces were just as close as they had been before, but the difference was that now, they were _intimate._

Not just comforting, but intimate.

He wasn't afraid now. Those thoughts swirling in his head of not letting her get too scared, of the whole _brother-I'm her brother-her brother_ mantra, and of the slight guilt he'd feel for touching her before.

It was all gone. Gone in her soft sighs as he'd caress her a certain way on her hip. Gone, as she'd mutter his name, _Fang, _desperately and urgently as his fingertips would rub her collarbone slowly.

Gone, as she'd giggle in the night as he'd say something funny about his day.

Gone, as she'd kiss his adams apple as he'd gulp thoroughly.

Gone, as she'd play with his fingertips in the light of the moon on her bed.

All the hesitance was gone.

It was a feeling of ease and security.

Some nights, they just slept with ease and security without even talking.

Now, she would sigh when she'd wanted to. She'd move his fingers where she wanted to. It was a lot more relaxing.

A lot more enjoyable. That was what this had lead to.

And above all, they _were able_ to speak at night now. Casually, affectionately, like best friends, or lovers, or whatever one would like to call it. About their school day, about their teachers, or their homework, or their friends.

And at first, never about Iggy, but even he had been introduced as a slowly growing figure in their discussions and conversations now. Though Fang still didn't dare to ask her _about_ how she felt with him. Comments about him were just in passing, when he'd mention a joke he'd made today, or when she'd mention something silly he'd done that day.

But they never.. discussed.. _him_.

Deep in the back of their minds, they _knew_, that Iggy's position and relationship with them was of dire consequence and need. He was very important. With Iggy standing in as Max's boyfriend, there'd be no reason for anyone to suspect.. _them._

Now they both knew this relationship was a secret. Though they never really did much—never even made out for that matter; only having done it once or twice since the first night that she'd confronted him about his apathy—their relationship was still something deep and heavy and intense.

He enjoyed spending the nights with her. He enjoyed digging his face into her hair.

She liked talking to him at night; it seemed that he spoke more when there was darkness around them. She liked being held in his arms and being told whimsical stories of bird-winged children.

They liked the mornings where it'd be soft and quiet, and she'd just play with his fingers until it was time for him to leave. They liked making out, even though they didn't do it often. He liked falling asleep listening to her agitated voice as she talked about something that had irritated her today. He liked the irritated voice that accused him of not listening when he wasn't.

They talked about everything and anything. They had no secrets and confronted eachother about everything. That was why.. it was all the more easier for them to act like they did in real life. Because as their love for one another grew, so did their resolve to hide themselves from everybody else. They had their sibling relationship act down to a science.

Because it made them sure that no one, ever, can find out about them.

In the back of his mind, Fang hypothesized, observing how Max behaved with Iggy these days, that she didn't genuinely like him anymore.

He felt guilty, having to burden her with a boyfriend she didn't like, just in order to hide suspicions of her relationship with her half-brother. But it was her choice to do it. It was her choice to keep Iggy, even though she knew it was very necessary that she did. They never spoke of how she felt about Iggy though. He was both of their close friends, and of many people in the world, was one who could never, ever, know of their tryst. Their betrayal.

They were both playing him, like a chinese chess piece, using him to both their advantages. But it couldn't be helped. Although they both loved him very much, they needed to use _him _to hide _them._

As he thought back on this messed up, convoluted relationship they had, Fang realized something.

He loved Max. He truly loved her, and although he didn't know for sure if they were just silly teenager hormones, he did know one thing—that at the moment, she was all that he cared about in his mind. And secretly, he hoped that he was the same to her.

The feelings that went through his head about her were indescribable and carried many weights and penalties of epic proportions, but if it was one thing he knew about her and after suffering through all these love-sicken thoughts, it was one thing: that he could never touch her in _that_ way.

Though most people would think that a love for someone like them in this situation would be physical and sheerly a mere craving, it was not what he saw in his mind. He loved her for who she was, and her transparent emotions and thoughts.

Was he attracted her? Yes, god, yes. He had noticed from his first day at this house that his blessed half-sister was definitely _not _cursed with an undesirable physique. But other than that noticing, he did not do much else.

So while he touched her, slid his hands around her abdomen and about her waist, he never went further up to touch her nipples directly. While his hands will skim around her collarbones and up and down the sides of her torso, he would move his hands to her elbows rather than to squeeze her nipples. He had been around the block—he knew _exactly _what to do to get her on her toes. But wouldn't do it.

But he couldn't touch her, not in that way.

He decided that he could appreciate, but he could never.. _inflict_ any type of pleasure onto her. Half of him was scared. The other half knew it was wrong. And the last half.. did not want to give her any lasting memories.

Though he did not know how much she did with Iggy—and did not _want_ to know—he would not touch her in fear of being her first _anything. _She did not deserve to have her first _anything_ tainted and touched by her _brother_. An impure relationship, which could not be entrusted into the hands of society, made him _hate_ himself for loving her because now he could not let go. So he wouldn't. For as much time as he'd be granted, he'd stay with her, and enjoy the fruits of secret labors, wondering what he ever did to Karma for it fuck him over _so_ badly.

Even in real life, at school, he'd refrain from checking her out (though, considering it was already winter now, it wasn't exactly tempting to do so ontop of her layers of clothing). But other than that, it was a normal relationship. As normal as you could get a secret sibling relationship to be.

Though, sometimes, he would falter.

* * *

"Fang, it's 9 already" I said.

"Max.."

I gave in, with a sigh. He leaned up and kiss me, licking my top lip quietly and silently, before pulling me back into bed and into his arms.

It _was _a Sunday morning, a nice relaxing atmosphere situation, what with him catching my mom leaving early and all, so I don't know why I was being so hesitant. It'd feel nice to sleep in under the sunlight on a Sunday morning, lazily, so I saw where he was been coming from.. but still.

Still.. it was in broad daylight now. Felt sort of weird—having woken up and then directly going back to sleep.. Sleeping with Fang in broad daylight?

We had never done that before. It was risky. And.. Ugh.. it was.. unnerving..

But before I knew it, Fang had lulled me back to sleep with the calm, smooth rhythm of his palms between my shoulderblades. By the time we woke up at 12, I was feeling pleasantly refreshed and stretching while splayed out over my mattress. I watched Fang watching me, and I'm not sure why I wasn't so uncomfortable with it. Afterall.. he was watching my body as I stretched out, splayed over my mattress.. his eyes were intense as they sneaked several glances at my curves and all.. but somehow—I didn't care—not as in "Oh, he's just my brother and all, so it doesn't really matter if he watches," like I'd usually excuse myself with. It was more that.. I enjoyed it.

I dunno why I was basking in the glory of him watching me.. wasn't that objectifying myself? I don't know why—but I was fine with him watching me—I didn't even mind; I was even surprised that I welcomed the attention.

The attention.. the attention I hardly ever saw him give any other girls around at school. That was what led me to enjoy the knowledge of him peeking glances at me. His eyes skimmed over my waist and my thighs—my breasts, as I stretched out in front of him.

Noticing the focus of his attention, I then decided to curiously experiment, bringing my own arm across my torso, to slowly and 'accidentally' brush across the two lumps.

I saw his lips part slightly now as his face seemed to quickly drain of color. He was in shock, but his eyes were now completely, utterly, captivated. The movement of my arms across my chest seemed to have gotten his attention, and he couldn't let go of it now. I satisfactorily watched his eyes travel down to my legs as he watched unashamedly.

And then I had realized what my thoughts and feelings had led me to.

_I was giving him a show. _

A tantalizing _show. _

_**You're a slut, for giving your brother**__** a show**_, a hag instead my brain said to me.

_**He's a pervert, for enjoying it**_, it also embellished.

On the mattress, my arms and legs wantonly spread out on it, the thoughts passed through the synapses of my mind and then my eyes lurched up to meet his suddenly.

His head was resting on top of and propped up onto the palm of one hand as he lay on his side ontop of the bed, over my body, which was spread out before him wantonly—completely open for his wandering eyes. But he wasn't looking down on me anymore. Instead, his eyes connected with mine.

And the looks on his face were no longer coveted and pleasureful, sneaky or conniving, or sexual with wanton desire. It was of both guilt and seriousness.

Staring at eachother on the bed, in our nefarious positions, we both knew what we were thinking at the same time.

_We're so messed up_.

* * *

A/N:

Three updates in two days! And that is given the fact that I'm getting like 2% of the amount of feedback that I used to get. Thats how grateful I am to my readers who still follow this story! Please appreciate my effort!

Don't you want to review now? :)**  
**


	27. The Course of Six Months

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: **The Course of Six Months

_**All the different prompt sentences are scattered throughout the timelines of six months between september and february, but the last few sentences leading up to #50 are chronological, and 50 is the last.-_

**#01 – Comfort**  
After an evening in the company of their father, Fang is bone-achingly eager to welcome the company of his half-sister; her open arms allow him to be himself for a while—release the tension that plagues him day after day in that house.

**#02 - Kiss**  
Fang makes sure that the sole chaste kiss he leaves her on her lips every morning promises nothing more, but she seems to misinterpret.

**#03 - Soft**  
One would assume that a boy as quiet and still and soft-spoken as him would be cold, hard and chiseled, but on the contrary, Max quickly learns that his skin is in fact softer than hers.

**#04 - Potatoes**  
Fang watches, as on a cold winter day in the cafeteria, Iggy spoon-feeds hot mashed potatoes into Max's mouth; and he doesn't mind, until Iggy reaches down to lick it off her lips and her giggles begin to reverberate in the background. He tries to convince himself that they're forced.

**#05 - Rain**  
It's the only time the occasional dark, wet spots on his sleeve don't sadden her.

**#06 - Chocolate**  
Iggy takes intricate, time-consuming care in blending the right mix of cocoa for their four month anniversary because he knows she loves chocolates.

**#07 - Happiness**  
The first time he hears Max sigh in her deep sleep in his arms, Fang lost his last doubt about refusing their comfort.

**#08 - Telephone**  
His phone rings and he curses whoever the hell is calling him 5 in the morning, but he can't give it yet another thought because Dr. Martinez is at her door asking why his ring tone is coming from her room.

**#09 - Ears**  
Shadows in the hallway between the three bedrooms no longer worry Max; the mouths of their owners do.

**#10 - Name**  
Iggy reminds Max of the day in 2nd grade when she had called him Icky and he has refused to speak to her four two days, before he had come crawling back to her. Chuckling, he admonished that its always been the same. Fang looks on emotionlessly.

**#11 - Sensual**  
In pleasure, Max gasps and involountarily arches her back above his bed, as Iggy reaches his head down into her neck and gently caresses his lips down the veins and arteries.

**#12 - Death**  
Sometimes Iggy sees Fang glance down at the old, worn and outdated watch on his left hand.

**#13 - Sex**  
When Max tries to reach down with her hands amidst all the ferocity in her hurried, flustered, and intentful kisses, Fang firmly pushes her away.

**#14 - Touch**  
Valencia's hand on Max's shoulder is warm and reassuring, but she finds that she can no longer easily relax in her mother's presence, so an hour later, finds herself crying ontop of her bed.

**#15 - Weakness**

"I love you," Iggy says to her on their four-month anniversary, handing her a box of chocolates.

**#16 - Tears**  
Fang walks Ella home from school after a basketball game, speaking to her of his quiet fantasies of bird-winged children, and she wonders why they had to go and do something so bad because she truly liked him so much.

**#17 - Speed**  
Iggy had asked Max to get up early so they could walk to school alone together, but then a rush of wind flew past and Fang had appeared in front of them, greeting them a good morning with his coat hanging off him and his hair mussed haphazardly.

**#18 - Wind**  
Iggy waits patiently outside the optician's office, hopefully waiting for his test results to come back.

**#19 - Freedom**  
Because he may ask for anything and allowed to do the same, Fang chooses to sit in the back garden and flip pebbles into the pool, glancing at Max's window every so often.

**#20 - Life**  
"So Max," her mother says thoughtfully over dinner, after having gone through each of their second quarter report cards, "I think you need a tutor."

**#21 - Jealousy**  
Max watched Fang casually flirt with a red-headed girl across the cafeteria from where she sat with Iggy's arm around her waist.

**#22 - Hands**  
Max decided to change her tactic; she learned to play by seeing Fang block all the pieces; but she would learn win by studying the hand that moves them.

**#23 - Taste**  
The medicine makes him hurt so much that liters of water gather and fall from the corners of his eyes, but Iggy takes the dosages everyday anyway. To surprise her.

**#24 - Devotion**  
Despite how agitated he's been growing with Max's behavior recently, he still keeps coming back to her room every night, because he loves her and he cannot let her go.

**#25 - Forever**  
Because after the death of his parents and all the regrets that lay within him afterwards, the nightmares that plagued him with things he'd never said or done, Fang decided that it would be worth it to take what he could get.

**#26 - Blood**  
Using his computer for a homework assignment after hers had caught a virus, Max clicks the back button once and then catches sight of Fang's computer history: hundreds and hundreds of research articles on incest and genetics.

**#27 - Sickness**  
At the peak of fever, she mutters his name despairingly, and Valencia's brows furrow curiously.

**#28 - Melody**  
She couldn't sleep one night, so he sung her a soft lullaby, but only after he had finished did he noticed a dark shadow leave the edge of Max's door and hear the sound of Jeb's home-office door creak close shortly thereafter.

**#29 - Star**  
On an overnight school trip, the bunks fell short and the chaperons decided that the only option remaining was to ask the siblings to share the remaining cabin together; he stroked her hair and they looked up into the moon and the stars; but when Jeb found out about the situation, he was furious.

**#30 - Home**  
Days, weeks, even months later, and Max still knew he did not act like this or consider this his real home.

**#31 - Confusion**  
He reaches for her and Max falls back, shirking away his arm and turning away.

**#32 - Fear**  
He claims he can't remember their faces, but Iggy notices Fang doesn't look up at him when he says it.

**#33 - Lightning/Thunder**  
The moment between the flash and the echo isn't long, but Iggy had the agility and the grace of a bobcat, to jump through her window at night.

**#34 - Market**  
For christmas, Ella didn't get them anything.

**#35 - Bonds**  
Fang walks into her room only to find Iggy lying there with her, and then walks back to his own.

**#36 - Technology**  
Frustrated for the last time, Max shoves a small packet of pills in his face, showing him that they had nothing to be scared of now; but he still shakes his head no, pushing the pack away.

**#37 - Gift**  
For her birthday, he gave her a kiss.

**#38 - Smile**  
At school, she learns to smile without showing her teeth, and to speak without saying what she means, but she feels like dying everyday, the closer she sits beside him.

**#39 - Innocence**  
Iggy looks down at her, sleeping on his living room couch, and wonders how he could be blessed with such an angel.

**#40 - Completion**  
Though history is not his favorite subject, Iggy notices it's the one Fang's most attentive to; he indulges Fang's interest by mentioning that one cannot fathom an ending of an event without understanding the conditions of its start. Fang's face darkens considerably.

**#41 - Clouds**  
Ella knows Fang is different from others, teenagers and adults and otherwise, because it takes a special sort of person to find a winged frog in the sky.

**#42 - Hell**  
Fang doesn't question Max's right to hate; instead, he marvels at her refusal to obey it. He pushes her away when she tries again for the umpteenth time.

**#43 - Sky**  
Tears leak out as Max pushes him away, a date on a lawn under the cool February air on their six-month anniversary, and she says "no" to him again.

**#44 - Heaven**  
When Jeb sees the two of them watching television in living room, he assesses the 7 feet distance between his two children for much too long than entirely necessary.

**#45 - Sun**  
Come dawn, Fang's exhausted eyes open to see crusted tears on her face, the quiet remnants after a silent night-long argument of "_why?". _And thats when he decides he needs to say yes. Though he does not want to.

**#46 - Moon**  
Looking up, Fang decides the moon actually weaves in and out throughout the sky, instead of being in a uniform circle.. he couldn't explain it, but it resembled Max.

**#47 - Waves**  
"When?" she asked, eyes eager when he finally relented. "Soon. Not now, but soon," Fang replies silently, his eyes dark and his jaw tilted down in shame.

**#48 - Hair**  
When the bright lights centered on him on the cold hard metal table, it was her hair that he thought of—the auburn, tawny brown hair that always smelled like regular-quality shampoo and not like strawberries or peaches—somehow while anesthesia needle stabbed his skin and the knife cut him, he didn't notice a thing.

**#49 – Supernova**  
It was four months after October, that when carefully scrutinizing a particular a glance that Ella had given him that night that he finally figured out that she _knew, _she _always knew_, Fang realized with shock.

**#50- Pain**

Iggy pulled back the curtains in his room with a gigantic grin on his face, having never seen the colors so clearly before this day, only to glance down to Max's window—something he hasn't seen clearly since he was 7—and see two figures lying together on her bed under the moonlight, caught in a loose embrace.

* * *

_A/N: I dunno if you guys got this._

**_**All the different prompt sentences are scattered throughout the timelines of six months between september and february, but the last few sentences leading up to #50 are chronological, and 50 is the last.**_**

_Sorry, I'll elaborate on the next chapter._

_But the following points may have been a bit confusing:_

_Iggy tries to make things more intense with Max, but she rejects him when he tries to.. her desire to do stuff with Fang is spurred by the pressure Iggy puts on her. The pills are birth control pills_

_a) The story will continue on the point that #50 leaves you off at.. the end of february, and No, Max and Fang have not had sex. He just said "soon."  
_


	28. Something Just Gone Wrong

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Something Just Gone Wrong  
**

In late February skies, there was always a cool chill in the air.

Max got up and dressed tiredly in her room, another school morning starting. _Back to the endless drone of life_, she thought bleekly, noting the sad and painful end to midwinter break.

The empty week had been nice—nothing to do, just spending time with Fang (and Ella, kinda) in the house. Iggy had been away over break too, so there had been a little stress off her shoulders.

It was horrible, she realized while pulling a pair of socks on, to think of Iggy's presence now as simply _stress_. But it was true. Being around Iggy now simply made Max feel nothing but uncomfortable, guilty, and awkward.

To think, it used to be Fang's presence that made her ashamed, uncomfortable, guilty, and awkward.

But she had decided that she could only have one person she would have to fully devote herself to.. devoid of shame and unadultered fear.. and somehow.. it ended up being Fang. She wasn't sure how it happened, but it just did somewhere along the way. It was the wrong choice; she knew it; but she couldn't help what she had chosen. Maybe it was in the way he sometimes looked at her. She felt like he would go to the end of the earth and throw himself off a cliff with no wings on his back, just to save her.

The amount of fierce intensity in his eyes, the cold rigid—yet warm—embraces he had while he held her in his arms.. she could feel everything he had in everything he held.

The reality of their relationship was that it was something scary.

Something so forbidden and intense, that it was scary.

Scary how she couldn't imagine her life without it anymore. But scary what it _was._

With a sigh, she pulled on a third layer: a sweater on top of two long-sleeved t-shirts, to combat the cold outside. Pulling out her hair out from underneath the sweater, she then brushed it quickly and carelessly for a second, before rushing out the door.

School was tiresome, but at least Fang was there.

Iggy was bearable.. around Fang. She knew what she was doing everything for, acting like that around Iggy, when she would catch Fang's glance across the table from her, while in Iggy's arms. Knowledge of their relationship made it all worthwhile.

And although she knew Fang didn't like it, she had to put up with it. She could see the looks on his face—the _doubt—_when she'd be acting around Iggy. She felt repulsed, awful, saddened by the fact that she could see that he was always wondering whether her laughs and flirtatious giggles around Iggy were actually genuine or not.

She knew Fang was always wondering whether she _really_ enjoyed Iggy's company, or if she was just acting.

It was a horrible thought. Something that made her cry late at night in the bathroom when she needed some time alone.. the idea that Fang did not bestow complete trust within her, but was always _wondering_.

But she couldn't blame him. If she could be disloyal to Iggy, she could also rationally be disloyal to Fang.

The sadness it inspired in her was not only due to the fact that she could, in no way, ever approach this topic with Fang, but also with the realization that it was more _his_ sadness—a man who was always wondering if the girl he gave all his affections to truly felt the same way in return.

It was painful to have Fang sit there and watch all their couple interactions.. but it was his own choice. He watched, silently, and without betraying a word through his face; apathetically; as his best friend proudly coddled the girl he held every night.

Max sighed again, all the shameful, regretful thoughts swirling around her head. To face another day of rehearsal. Break had been nice, she realized in retrospect.

She walked into the kitchen, the glass doors edged with remnants of the blizzard two weeks ago, and saw Fang standing by the counter. He was leaning over the edge, his chin propped up on his palm, and she saw an empty plate with maple syrup residue off to the side.

"Did Ella leave already?" she asked, noting the sticky plate. (Fang always ate his waffles dry).

"Yeah."

Max nodded in response to his affirmation. She was used to his monosyllabic responses these days. There was something heavy in the air for some reason, recently. She didn't even have the will to blush while eating her own plate of waffles and maple syrup, as she was reminded of the night before, when he had slowly and gently stuck his tongue in her ear. The funny things that had rocketed up her abdomen.

Now, she looked back on it tiredly. Reminiscently. It seemed like her life outside, even on the kitchen table, was immensely and massively different from what it was three days ago, when they knew they were alone and free to be who they truly wanted to be in their comfort of their home.

Now, they were waiting for Iggy to arrive. So that they could go to school together.

That simple thought in itself, the knowledge of it, made the atmosphere dreary and tense. Iggy.

Their relationship was now far too tense to any longer be okay with Iggy's presence in between the two of them. They were both growing tired and weary.

And if she weren't such a dutifully good girlfriend in appearance, she was sure Iggy would've already grown weary and tense already too. Luckily for her, she was a _horribly_ good one, and it was that fact that made her cry at night in the bathroom. Because she was so good, and Fang had to watch.

What he didn't know of course, was that she was facing an altogether different repercussion by keeping Iggy off their tails; the repercussions of being a good girlfriend, which generally include.. relationship advancements.

And, for some reason, she had had kind of a clue that Fang had already figured out the position she was in, because he had recently said yes to her repeatedly denied requests to consummate their relationship (much to her great surprise). She had been begging him for months, and he would always say no and sternly look her down—make her feel like a horny slut. But though he had said yes two weeks ago, he had yet to show interest in actually making good on his promise.

She knew it was a rather awful thing to ask of him.. considering, well, the circumstances of their relationship, but she didn't care anymore. She didn't care about the genealogy and all of the hypothetic repercussions. She was desperate, and to tears every single time Iggy tried to advance their relationship.

Iggy wasn't aggressive of course, but _she_ felt bad about rejecting him too. And her being rejected by Fang was worse, because that set sight to the whole reality of this thing.. their relationship.

But she knew Fang wasn't dense. Even though she hadn't told him, she knew for sure that by now, he'd gotten a hint of why she was so desperate and eager and dying to have sex with him. It was not just because she was a hormonal teenager. She was sure that he somehow figured out her conflictions in Iggy's attempts to make a more serious relationship. Fang wasn't dense. He wouldn't've said yes to her unless.. he felt like he really _needed_ to. Unless he felt.. _guilty. _Unless he just didn't want to see her get hurt.

Guilty for putting her into a situation.. a situation where a guy she doesn't like is pressuring her to have sex with him. Caught against her boyfriend because of a dreadfully incestuous relationship with her half-brother.

He felt guilty. And sad. Angry for her. Thats why he had said yes.

And Max ignored the thought in her head that told her she was just a pity-case to Fang.

Instead, she just focused on the positive and reveled in the happiness of the fact that he had finally said yes.

But though she felt like she had finally won, the prize wasn't as satisfying as she thought it would be. His saying yes just made their relationship all the more stressful. It felt like every moment they had in their grasps was fleeting.

It felt like there was an end coming soon.

It was growing tireful and wearisome. Now, everything she had with Iggy worried her. Even being in his presence made her worried. It was all stressful.

And though she was happy he'd finally said yes, he hadn't told her _when_ yet—which he made sure was up to him—and she couldn't help but wonder how much more awkward it'd be around Iggy _after_ it. Things like that weren't things you could take back at all. That was probably the reason Fang was so wary to make his decision.

But although he had a great capacity of empathy and the ability of insight, Fang just wouldn't understand. She knew he couldn't understand the position she was put in between him and Iggy.. She didn't give him any grief or resent him for it though. Afterall, her efforts with Iggy caused Fang to lack trust in her affections towards him.

They had never used the 'L' word. But with a relationship of this intensity and this much stress and admiration and desperation.. Max was pretty sure it was something that just did not need to be said.

Afterall. She knew.. was pretty sure.. that he loved her. And she knew.. was pretty sure.. at this point.. that she had this indescribable incredible tumultuous amount of, _like,_ for him. Which.. translated into love, right?

So the atmosphere was tense as they waited for Iggy at the kitchen counter table, each of them consumed in their own thoughts, even though Max wasn't precisely sure what Fang was thinking about.

But after a while, she noticed they had been waiting much too long.

Fang, still leaning on the counter and facing away, seemed to be oblivious to the fact that it'd been a while, but Max looked up to the clock above the kitchen fridge and noticed the time.

"Iggy's still not here yet," she said, popping Fang out of his mind-entranced daze. He looked up at her, picking his head off his chin and glancing at the clock as well.

The watch that he always kept on his left hand was never looked at. A few nights ago, while observing it in her bed, she had noticed that it didn't even work. When she asked him why he always kept it on anyway, she hadn't expected him to quiet, nor the answer that eventually came out of his mouth: that it had been owned by his stepfather, a pillaging from the car accident wreckage.

"Then we should go," Fang said, looking down and finally grabbing his backpack off the floor.

He began to sling it up on his shoulder before seeming to remember something, and then decided to put it down and leave it by the counter. Max threw him a questioning look.

"All my classes today are either stupid or audits," he explained. He threw on his jacket and zipped it up. Max grabbed her own bag and brought it to the living room before picking up her own jacket off the coach and zipping it.

Somehow, judging from how Fang generally seemed, she would assume that with a schedule as ridiculous and pointless as his, he could just cut school half the days of the week. But somehow, she felt that he actually only went to school for her. So she let him to do it without saying a word.

As they left the house and locked the door behind them there was a certain quietness in the atmosphere.

It wasn't said out loud or spoken though, but the quiet comfort and relaxation that they would be walking to school together was astounding. _Just_ _them. _

It made them happy inside, but no one would say it out loud. Nor would they hold hands—that would be too risky. Imagine if Iggy had come running up to them from behind? But it was a release of tension off their shoulders—the tension that would normally be there were Iggy present.

So they walked to school in comfortable silence, with light laughter occasionally sounding between the two of them as they walked and talked and discussed things.

As they reached the school, everyone was walking in, as they had arrived abnormally late, but still in time for class.

Fang, on the other hand, had a first period free, and had mentioned to Max that he'd go see if Iggy was in the courtyard playing basketball before school, like he sometimes did. Though usually Iggy would tell Max about it, there was also the possibility that maybe his flight had just arrived late from wherever he and his parents had gone over midwinter break.

Fang had gone to check anyway, and Max had decided to insist on following, just in case Iggy was there, cause they had the same first period English class together anyhow.

Fang walked around the side of the building, Max a few steps back behind him, as she had been talking to some of her friends before deciding to follow Fang back, and he noticed that despite the fact that Iggy was indeed there, everyone else on the court was picking up their packs and heading back into the school.

Iggy was still standing there though. Fang furrowed one brow as he wondered why Iggy wasn't rushing in too; afterall, class was starting in about 2 minutes. And it was cold outside.

"Yo, Igs!" he shouted from the side, as he walked further into the court.

By now the courtyard was pretty empty, everyone having already left to go inside the building, and Max was just coming around the corner of the building.

The chatter of voices from the front, where crowds gathered, had considerably decreased, as everyone began filing into the school.

Only they were left outside now, in the back of the school.

And then Iggy turned around.

The sight of his face caught them off guard, and Fang worriedly furrowed his eyebrows and approached Iggy in concern.

"Yo, man, are you alright?" Fang asked worriedly as he approached the pale and red sight that was Iggy.

Except it was the sight that frightened him—Iggy's eyes were framed in red, veins protruding from all ends towards the milky blue irises, whose pupils seemed to seem imperturbably small right now. He looked like he hadn't slept at all last night, and the reds rimming his eyelids were frightening Fang. Was he okay?

His hair was matted too, greasy, sticking out haphazardly, and a severe case of bed head, as if he'd spent all night tossing and turning around.

"Yeah, Iggy, are you okay?" Fang heard a female voice called out worriedly from just a foot behind him.

Max had reached them by this time, and the noises that were previously coming from the front of the school had completely dissipated. Class had already begun but the three were still standing on the court in the still and empty field, facing Iggy and waiting for an explanation.

The looks on their faces were identical ones of worry and concern, for their genuine best friend, whom began to suddenly clenching his fists.

"You're sick," Iggy suddenly said, something disgusted in his voice.

And Fang suddenly realized that he.. he was.. _angry_. Not sick or tired, but _angry_. He couldn't think of a single time he'd seen Iggy angry. The sight was startling them both.

"Um, Iggy?" Max asked hesitantly from behind him.

The wind whistled in the background and the field was empty and Iggy still wasn't continuing.

"Yeah.. Man, whatsup?" Fang asked him in confusion. He was beginning to feel a bit queasy.

"I never _knew _what bastard meant until I met someone like you, you _fucking sick—" _Iggy shouted out towards him devoid of inhibitions. The reds of his eyes bulged out threateningly.

The sight of him was even more frightening than it was before, when it had made Fang worried.

"_Yo, _man, what're you—" Fang cut him off. He had to admit that he didn't take well to that certain insult, because for the majority of his life he knew he did suit the definition of the word 'bastard' pretty well. The rage eliciting from Iggy's mouth cut Fang off though, as suddenly he felt his collar grasped by two strong and unhesitant hands of Iggy, whose knuckles were turning white.

Max looked on in surprise, just about ready to jump in and pull Iggy off of Fang, who was standing slackly and letting Iggy hold him. They were both really confused, but the thought that Iggy would _never_ hurt Fang stopped her, and she a second more to see if he'd explain.

Iggy looked sleep deprived, and completely unsettled. She knew he could have mood swings sometimes, but he seemed genuinelly irremarkebly _angry_ right now.

Even in the cold february air, Iggy's windbreaker was completely unzipped and flying about in the slight chill winds as he pulled up a wide-eyed and confused Fang against him. And other than the dark pea-green striped sweater underneath it, Max assumed Iggy was wearing nothing underneath the one layer underneath his jacket. He must've been gotten cold really fast before. Iggy's knuckles were white and his face was pale, eyes red, as he looked down on Fang, and that was when Fang realized something.

_His eyes were focused_. For _once, _they were _actually _focused.

Iggy was looking _at_ him. And had been looking at him from the start, when he had been standing feet away on the court.

And then, just in the revel of the realization, he was punched again. Right on the face, by Iggy's right hand on his left cheek. He hadn't seen it coming.

"You..you _fucking _bastard_,"_ Iggy breathed out through his teeth.

Rubbing his jaw with one hand in shock, still pulled limply in Iggy's hold, Fang looked back up at him in wonder.

When he heard Max gasped loudly from behind him, Fang finally realized it. It suddenly clicked.

He slowly released himself from Iggy's grasp and stepped back slowly to two or three three yards away.

"Iggy.. its.., its not what you.."

"No! Man, man.. _I saw," _Iggy stressed in disbelief, his eyes stretching wide, "She's.. she's your fucking _sister."_

"Iggy.. calm down, relax," Fang tried to put on his best illusion of aloofess, but it was proving difficult because inside, he truly was freaking out.

"WHAT THE FUCK is there to CALM DOWN ABOUT" he screamed in response, "YOUR HANDS WERE ALL OVER MY _FUCKING GIRLFRIEND! _SHE'S YOUR FUCKING _SISTER!"_

Fang turned back for a minute second, still on guard with his defense up towards Iggy, to see Max's reaction.

And Max, his hard, undefeatable, unbreakable Max, was in tears, her legs folded underneath her on the ground.

"Iggy.. I.. I, _let _him" she tried to explain through her meekened voice.

"Its _sick," _he spat, "_No. It'_s _wrong_."

"Iggy—" Fang started.

"NO! YOU—YOU GUYS ARE _BROTHER AND SISTER,_" he lunged, "ITS WRONG! YOU FUCKING BASTARD_!_"

"Iggy, its not his fault," Max started, keeping one hand on his chest to keep Fang and Iggy seperated.

"No Max, you gotta.. just.. you can't" Iggy took a deep breath, seeming to calm down, "You can't."

"We didn't plan this though," she continued, seeming to beg him now, in tears.

"Iggy, please, don't, don't—" Fang tried in a desperate attempt at a plea, but Iggy ignored him.

"No, he's your brother. _I'm_ your boyfriend. Just.. no. It's sick. It's just sick. You can't do this."

Iggy leaned down into the floor and tried placing his lips on hers, but for the first time in ever, Max turned and pushed him away. She had never rejected his affections before, but now.. now she felt liberated. Free. Finally, she was allowed to do this. She needed to prove him wrong.

But if she was so relieved.. why was she crying? Why were there tears falling out of her eyes.

"No.. Iggy.. I_ love_ Fang."

Iggy got up from the ground, his face tinged with disgust and started shaking his head vehemently.

"No. You can't. You don't. He's your brother. Your _brother_." He seemed to be talking to himself, "You can't do this. _It's disgusting_."

Max's tears start to come out in full length now, and Fang looked on helplessly. He didn't know what to do now. Iggy seemed to have calmed down, but the affects of his outburst had not been lost.

"I—I'll tell Jeb and Dr. Martinez," Iggy sputtered, turning away from them, "You have to stop, Max, you're _my_ _girlfriend. _You and Fang.. it can't be. _It's_ _disgusting_. He's a bastard. You.. you have to be with me. It's.. it's just wrong._" _

Fang watched on as Iggy walked away from them, across the courtyard and into school.

The worries that tapered his mind as he watched him walk away were countless and many, but his first priority was Max. And once he was sure that Iggy had gone, he took a sprint to floor where Max was lying in a heap and went to pick her up off the floor.

But he couldn't at first, as he saw her sobbing on the floor. So, with one knee leaning against the floor as well, he hugged her through the sobbing while belittling himself for not knowing what fucking else to do to alleviate her pain and conflictedness. But her tears trembled through his bones and his arms and with her own tears on his face, he decided to push his wet lips against the top of her head and whisper a gentle word of reassurance, which he wasn't quite sure would work.

"It's okay Max. Our love.. our love is just something gone wrong," he whispered into her hair.

Something went wrong, he thought, somewhere along the way. They weren't meant to love each other, but somewhere along the way, they messed up. Something got messed up somewhere along the way, and it hadn't been on purpose. He felt like crying too, in the revelation of all the pain that the something that went wrong caused them. But he wouldn't do it—not here. So instead, he tried once again to pick her up off the floor and they walked away from the courtyard.

They didn't speak a word on the way home.

It was a unanimous decision that they wouldn't go back to school.

Afterall, her eyes were red and bleary, her cheeks tear-stained, and her form fatigued and drained. There was no way they could go to school now. She had stopped leaning against him once outside the school gates, but the rest of the walk took place in deep, contemplative silence. They didn't exchange words, but walked together in their own thoughts and made sure that the quietness had no room to reverberate around between them, as both were consumed by the repercussions of what had just happened. They were a quiet, unspoken couple in general. Just reflecting in the wisdom and disgraces of their thoughts.

So when they got back to the house, still not a word having been exchanged between the two of them, he slowly and gently took off her coat and placed it on top of the sofa, before he led her up to his room.

Her eyes were puffy with tears still coming out, and her nose red as she sat on the edge of his twin sized bed, which was covered in dark sheets. She tried to look at him questioningly, wondering why he had brought her to his room instead of hers, but he wasn't looking at her, instead deep in thought. Sitting beside her on the edge of his bed as well, his head was slumped forward and placed right into his hands.

After 10 long minutes of thinking, he finally looked up at her. He stared down at the carpeted floor as he asked her a question.

"Did you take the pill?"

"Wha—" Max began to question, before she realized what he was referring to.

And suddenly, she was relieved. _This_ was what she needed. He had realized it. She needed _him_. To feel him, all of him. To do this. To _not care_. To know that _he _didn't care. About Iggy, about the world, about anything else. She needed this.

And to think, he had known before she even, herself, had.

"Oh. I have."

Fang got up off his bed without looking at her once.

"Do whatever you need to. Forty minutes."

At that, he left, his form tense and inconfidant.

Max stared at his receeding back in confusion before she realized what he'd said. He'd given her time to do whatever she wanted. Like the nights where he'd wait forty minutes for her to get dressed and ready for bed before he'd come up.

Fear, apprehension, appreciation, impatience, _whatever_ it was that was running through her veins, was what propelled her off that bed. She found herself in the bathroom, cleaning herself quickly and in all the spots that no one else had seen before (except maybe her doctor at the yearly check ups).

She took a deep, quivering, exasperated sigh in apprehension, hoping to calm herself down as she ran a blade up her pits and down her legs. She didn't usually do this—get ready.

This was nothing.. right? This was.. just Fang. Just Fang.

_Despite the fact that he's done this before_, she silently freaked out.

And when she went back to the room, she got ready and slid underneath his dark sheets before deciding it would be better if she lay ontop of them. So she lay there, completely unclothed and naked, lying ontop of his dark covers in the stillness of the room.

Despite the fact that it was day now, the dark curtains in his room complemented the chill February weather to make the room look like it was dead of night.

She had noticed he had turned the heater up too, and that blinds were drawn and curtains closed deeply. The room was completely darkened.

But he was nowhere to be seen. So she waited patiently, ontop of the small twin-sized bed, in the small rectangular room where they had never slept before. It was peculiar that he'd picked this place to do this, but in retrospect she wondered if it was because he didn't want to soil her own sheets, because the bed was smaller and more cramped.

She waited in quiet stillness, ontop of cold sheets, bare in her birthday suit, waiting for him to silently walk in. And he did.

It was quiet when he did; he didn't speak a word as he stood over the bed where she lay and looked her naked form up and down, lying on his bed.

But he didn't say anything.

Not even a light, complementary, customary _You're beautiful_, like it was in the movies, when the romantic leads finally see each other naked.

Instead he just stared at her, her body in the dark. And she couldn't catch his pupils glance at her face at all; they just ran up and down her figure without touching her face. As if objectifying only her body.

She was probably hallucinating, Max though. She was just upset with what had happened with Iggy, and it was _Fang_, after all. He didn't just care about her body. She just couldn't see well in the dark.

But still, there was naught a word after his survey.

He then turned around, giving her his back, as he undressed. She heard the sounds of his belt unclicking and his clothes dropped.

His face mostly hidden by the dark, he got up ontop of the bed and ontop of her. He paused for a moment ontop of her, his knees on either sides of her hips but not touching them, as he slid something with his hands onto his pelvic bone.

And just when she thought this moment, this _thing_ would finally make some sense, he placed his palms on the bed far away from the sides of her head, trudged her legs apart, and put himself in. Quickly.

She cried out suddenly. Painfully. But he ignored it, and just kept moving in and out.

He didn't slow down. Didn't offer any small words of reassurance or worry. Didn't even speak a word. And as she reached out to touch his limbs, he moved further away.

It was quiet, impersonal, painful.

Tears were falling down her face, trickling, and he refused to stop even though she hurt and she knew for sure that _he _knew that she hurt.

He ignored all her requests to stop.

And he didn't touch her. At all. Intimately nor impersonally.

She begged in desperation. For Fang to please, please, hold her. The pain was too much. Too great to go through alone. But he ignored the efforts of her emotional whims and pushed himself further away.

She felt like she was going to fall apart. She needed something, anything, just the slightest caress of reassurance or caring from him.

But he didn't slow down, or grace her with anything even vaguely reminiscent of such a thing.

So she kept on crying, silently sobbing as the pain increased and tears trickled down her face and into her neck and below her collarbones, harshly being jammed into the headboard and learning to quietly accepting it as so.

He, above her, was heaving in his efforts of pleasure and pain.

And ignoring her tears, which had now grown silent. She had now stopped making noise.

Once he was done and finished he grunted and collapsed ontop of her carelessly, crushing her—and not caring if he touched now—before he finally got up and left.

Once she had been sure he had left, Max curled up on the mussed up bed and cried uninhibitedly, both in pain and in hurt.

Her pelvis hurt so much, god.

It hadn't felt good at all—he hadn't slowed down even once. It had been harsh and cruel.

Painful, quiet, and impersonal.

He hadn't touched her at all. Hadn't touched her breasts, or her arms, or her legs. Had seemed uninterested in them. He had just been completely insensitive to her inexperience.

It had been nothing like what she had expected.

Outside the door, Fang sat with only his briefs on, his head resting on the folded arms that were placed on his propped up knees. He stared down at the carpeted floor between his knees.

"Sorry," he whispered silently as he listened to her sob back on his bed.

He closed his eyes in pain as he forced himself to listen.

* * *

_A/N: _

_I have waited forever to write this chapter.. like since june of last year. _

_**Anyway, I am almost up to 1000 reviews. ** D: Wow.  
_

_I have a challenge up on my profile guys. This story is coming to an end and I recently got a thought-provoking review. So I challenge you guys to give this author some food for thought. Go check out the challenge on my profile, since some of you may like to throw something at me. ;)_

_I hope you guys review quick and soon for quick and fast updates!  
_


	29. Cries, Tears, Sobs, Lactations

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cries, Tears, Sobs, Lactations  
**

They sat at the dinner table quietly and silently.

Max noticed, even without looking at him, that he never brought his face up to look at hers either. They stayed glued on his plate, not even bringing his head up from the gaze to address a question from Jeb or a comment from her Mom. He answered normally, casually, as systematically and politely as he usually did at the dinner table.. while keeping his head down.

He couldn't help it of course. He was sitting beside Jeb, and directly across the table from him, as their usual seating arrangements went, was Max.

No matter what, he'd have to look at her.

So thats why he held his head down.

Because no one else in the room knew that just 3 1/2 hours prior to their dinner sitting, two of the family members at the table had been having sex upstairs. Namely, the two teenagers, whose knees were just several inches away from touching beneath the table.

Those teenagers who refused to look at eachother, to acknowledge the sin, hurt, disgust, or even thought of what they'd did. Not even the pain. They were too scared.

Because Jeb did not know that just 3 hours prior to their family dinner meeting, two of his children had been having sex upstairs. Those children who were sitting right beside him and diagonally across from him right now. He shot them a pleasant, oblivious smile. Max still refused to look up.

She felt her ankle quiver for some reason. It was her right ankle. And she didn't know if it was because of the impact, but the quivering, she certainly could not explain. Her thighs felt as sore as the first day she'd try longjumping in track-two hours straight-but it was possibly worse. Her thighs felt red and sore and she could barely move her lower mid-section at the moment, and hoped to god that when she got up and got tensed or wobbly for a moment, that it would be missed by her Mom and parents and.. and by Fang.

Afterall, he didn't need to care.

She had forced himself into doing this. So it was expected he would act that way. Because he didn't care.

Because he didn't want to do this.

She thought about it for a while, lying in the dark, empty spanse of the room, curtains drawn closed tight. Naked on his bloodstained bed where they had consummated. Left alone with only the memories and the thoughts of what they had just done. At first, she had cried for a little bit-the initial pain wearing down. And then she'd relaxed into a state of quiet consciousness in which she wondered a bit about life and why they had just done what they did.

Why Fang had just done what he just did.

And the answer was this. He hadn't wanted to do it. Duh.

She had forced him to do it, and he had willingly complied. Becuase thats who he was-a compliable person. But in truth, he did not want her. Had just done it in the rush of the things, to get it over with-quick and easy (and painful, but easy). Memories to not last forever, except for painful realization and reassurance.

So that is why she did not look back up at him at the dinner table. (Not that there was anything to look back at of course-he was diligently keeping his eyes away from her, though to him, he knew his senses were personally tuned to her).

She felt like a fool. For not realizing sooner. For only realizing _afterwards_. For not realizing that he didnt want her.

So thats why she looked away.

She felt humiliated.

Humiliated.

Objectifying herself in such a way that was not even desired.. She felt embarrassed, disgusted, ashamed of herself.

And wryly, she admitted, she felt the feeling that one is not ever supposed to feel queasy about after losing your virginity-regret. Regret because she had been so stupid, she couldn't see.

So she was painfully sitting there, her face aflame, knowing the presence of Fang two feet away from her. The presence of her dad across from her, sitting beside him, not knowing that he had just taken her virginity 3 1/2-4 hours prior. That was how bad it was.

Self-shame. Guilt. Regret. Embarrassment.

Pain.

It was both physical and emotional, but she refused to see the emotional side of it because she believe she was not worth it. Who was she to feel pain when it should be Fang who was feeling pain-disgust as having to do that.

But she couldnt deny the deep sense of anguish within her heart. Because the boy she loved found her repulsive.

She loved a boy who found her repulsive. Didn't want to fuck her. Had no physical desires towards her.

Maybe she had just been mistaking all his brotherly-sisterly affections for love. Maybe she had deluded herself into a circle, and caught him inside it, and he had had no way to deny or climb out of it, so just played along to appease her? Maybe.. Maybe..

"Max?" A voice called her out of her thoughts. Her eyes still faced down towards her plate, for she did not want to look up.

"Please carry the dishes in the washer Max. Its your night tonight to do that chores. Please throw the garbage bags out too."

Max didn't respond for a while. In fact, didn't even look up from her plate. Didn't acknowledge that she'd heard anything, though she had. Her momentary act of obliviousness, however, was counterituitive, as it had gotten the attention of both Jeb and Ella as well. Even Fang listened more carefully to her.

Which meant they'd all be waiting and watching for her to get up and put the dishes away. And carry the trash cans out.

Bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

She would limp. She was still sore. She should've showered, but hadn't had enough time. Had been lying on Fang's bed contemplating things on his sheets for so long, and then heard keys in the front door click and jumped up to her room. She hadnt realized she had been lying there for two hours-her mom had already come home. So she immediately rushed into her room and locked to the door, proceeding to change.

It was disgusting, but she hadn't known what to do with the dried crusted red around her vulva. so she took some paper towels from her nightstand and wiped them down in her own room and put it in the wastebasket. Making-do in such a way felt so.. inherently.. horrible. It was disgusting. She knew she shouldve showered. But she couldnt get out of her room now.

Her face was still red and splotchy, remnants of crusted tears still on her cheeks. Her wrists still shook in nervousness. So she feigned sleep when her mom knocked on her door. An after-school nap. And she had felt fine after laying awake in her bed afterwhile.

But it was when climbing down the stairs when coming down for dinner, that she'd finally caught awareness of the soreness. It was something that had delayed insurgence. And she had been sitting here at the table for nearly 45 minutes now. She knew for sure she'd be ultra sore. Couldn't hide it well enough to avoid concern.

And that would lead to.. questionings.

She stared down at her plate.

"Um, okay Mom," she replied, confidant that her voice sounded fine, though inside she was freaking out.

She felt curious eyes on her, due to the momentary silence that followed her mom's request, but manned it up anyway. She was sure she could come up with some sort of excuse or another, if in the case they did question her. So she slid her chair back, aiming to get up, just as she was cut off suddenly, distinctly, by a certain voice that ignited a certain type of horror in her bones. At least for the moment.

It was Fang.

"No. I'll do it," he said suddenly, quickly getting up and walking past Max and the table.

Dr. Martinez frowned, though Jeb looked charmed.

"No, its Max's turn tonight. She should do it," their Mother interjected disprovingly as she glanced reproachfully from Max to Fang's scurrying actions of gathering the plates. He stopped for a moment and looked at her.

"I didn't do it yesterday. I was tired and had a BC Calc test to study for. Max took my place," he lied thoroughly. Max noticed that the reason Fang's lies got past them is not because he was a good liar (she didnt know about that), but because her Mom and Jeb did not know him well enough to discern his motives or any possible reasons to lie. So it got past them.

But still. She was still astounded by his reasoning to lie. And wondered why.

And almost sobbed in anger when she concluded, a second later, after watching Fang clean up the dishes and take out the trash, that it was Pity.

Now, in his eyes. Not only was she pathetic, desperate, and oblivious to perception, but also pitiful. Pitiful. It almost made her cry all over again.

But she didn't. She just waited until the table was clear and Jeb and her mom and Ella slowly gravitated places elsewhere, their attentions distracted, before slowly slipping out of her dinner table seat and sorely limping back on her bruised-feeling thighs, to her sad, lonely little room. She didnt feel like going to school tomorrow, so she thought she'd just sleep. Lock herself inside of her room and cry herself to sleep.

Because, afterall, if he thought she was pitiful, she _may as well_ pity herself. As pathetic as it sounded. She just needed that excuse.

To cry her heart out.

* * *

His eyes were red.

His cheeks tear-stained and the skin stretched taught and tight against the flush pinkish skin as the dried saltwater was replaced with more, and enflamed even more.

He was crying.

Eyes swollen, engorged, face and cheeks wet and red, his forehead resting on his hands as he let felt that dam that kept his grief and frustration in fall.

He was sitting on the side of his bed. The low, twin-sized mattress covered in dark navy-blue sheets, fresh and crisp. He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his palms.

He had just finished cleaning and disposing of his previous sheets.

The ones Max had been lying on for 3 hours prior.

The ones he had envisaged Max lying on for 2 1/2 of those 3 hours, as he'd listen to her sob and ramble from outside in front of the door.

He was crying.

He was crying for the first time since his parents had died nearly a year ago, in last April.

* * *

It was 2 in the morning. He couldn't sleep. The thoughts of what had gone on through the day today kept rushing through his head, he couldn't grasp ahold of it at all. He couldn't keep track of what had externally happened to him and what he himself had done, much less how it had affect the other people around him.

He had stopped sobbing, the momentarily while of weakness overcome as he delved deep into his thought in the dark edges of his navy blue room.

He ran through the thoughts in his head.

Iggy running up to him, Iggy finding out, Iggy seeing them through the window, Iggy punching him, Max coming in between them, Iggy walking away, Iggy threatening them, Max crying, sobbing on the ground, him picking her up, her crying against him, her walking back to the house, her on his bed.. her in between space of his two palms on the headboard, him.. not touching her.. her.. telling him to stop.. him.. _hating_ himself for having sex with her, him wondering what his christian grandparents in minnesota would think of him.. him, trying to forget.. him..

trying to get it over with.. him.. trying to finish it, him _blinded_ by his sense of need to get over something.. him hoping she wouldn't think of him as her half-brother

Him.. self-deluded..

Him.. crying.

Him, guilt.

Him, soap in the shower, getting into his eyes and feeling them tear up, but somehow loving the painful, stinging sensation in his eyes, and they relieved him of his tears.

Him, hair wet, walking into his room, at 3:25 in the morning

To see her, staring up at him, her eyes wet and doe-like, but red and filled with the efforts of keeping in his tense tears.

Him, feeling bewildered at the state of her on his bed.

Not knowing what to say.

He didn't know what to say.

One hand was still rubbing a towel on his head, but it froze and abruptly stopped and he saw her sitting there in the dark, looking up at him with _question_ in his eyes, legs dangling over the edge of the mattress-the place he had just been sitting on not 20 minutes prior to his bath.

"Max," his voice croaked out. He was finally looking at her. After a tense dinner of avoiding her gaze, he had to face the facts of what he had done earlier that day.

"Max," he repeated, his voice completely crakced on this. He thought the soap had gotten all the excess filth water out, but somehow he felt the familiar burning sensation on the corners of his eye again, his tearducts like bladders. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. All that he knew was that he was sorry.

But he didn't want to do it again.

And he didnt want to say it outloud.

Because five simple letters could not sum up what he had done to her.

What he had done to himself.

It was masochistic, downright painful. For he was trembling in the afteraffects of it too.

So he was speechless. There was nothing for him to say. He was filth. Embodiment of a garbage dump. He felt ashamed to even be within her eyesight at the moment.. to have to grace her with his unadultered, disgusting, abominishingly dirtied presence. He felt embarrassed, and ashamed, and sad. Not regretful, but sad. Because he knew the reasonings behind what was going on through his head at that moment-the moment in which he had acted a certain way-and he understood them in a poignancy that could not be translated or felt through words. So he could not explain; did not want to explain; their relationship was too messed up. So. He didnt.

But what he hadn't expected was

"I'm sorry," her low voice croaked out from the edge of his bed. And before he could even question or cut her off, she went off on a ramble.

"I'm sorry, and I know I should'nt've asked you to do that. I'm sorry and you don't have to take responsibility for me-I'm older. Just, please, forget this ever happened, and we can go back to living the way you wanted to. I know you-"

"Max," he cut off, "I hate you."

The anger in his voice was misplaced but it trembled within his deep tenor, in the lines of a baritone note and flittered gently across the soprano as his voice cracked deep within, even despite being 17 years old already.

He could tell the words hurt her, despite her suggestion of terminating their romantic relationship a second prior. But he of course knew she hadn't meant it.

She had misunderstood, as Maxes are supposed to do. But it was true. He hated her.

"I hate you for making me feel as guilty right now as I do. I hate you for making me have sex with you. I hate myself for momentarily getting caught up in the moment and thinking it would be alright. I hate me for backing out last minute and doing that to you," he said in one, unaffected, monotone drizzle, low-toned, "But I don't regret it, because I couldnt..."

Fang paused. He didn't know whether he could say this outloud. He was, by principle, a private person. A quiet one. Who rarely ever made his true-feelings to open and free for observation by the keen public. He paused before he rethought it and decided to stick with his principles and continue the sentence the way he had originally intended. He had to be as earnest and sincere as he could to make this work.

"I hate you because I kept on thinking.. no matter what.. that I've got to make you hate me. 'Cause theres absolutely no other possible way I can keep myself contained. 'Cause theres no possible way I can let your memory of your virginity being taken away.. by me. Your brother"

"I couldn't let you enjoy it. I hate you cause you made me more fucked up than I normally even am. Cause I'm stupid. I thought too much. Cause I went and started fucking having sexual thoughts about my stupid, dumb half-sister. Cause I hated myself for it. Cause I shouldn't have myself allow myself to feel good about it and enjoy it too. So I decided to hurt you. I know I did. I'm stupid."

The awkwardness was silent between them.

And their night was filled with sobs and tears and passionate love-making.

Where she gasped and moaned and writhed under his fingers beneath him, working his pianist hands on her vulva slowly, and gently, and casually.

Where he did everything he had wanted to do before

Where he covered her gasps and moans with his own mouth

And worshiped her body as his diety.

Where he started so gently and slowly, it felt like a river in motion, careful not to touch her bruises already place the river of her thighs in tandem. Where he maneuvered so efficiently, that it was beautiful, so beautiful that they both began to cry.

In anguish, in cries, and tears, in disbelief, the horror of their situation, and the forbidden ecstasy of their love.

So as he carressed her body and slid his hands down to the places he'd always wanted to touch, and she groaned in unadultered fear, he felt tears slide out from his face onto the soft pillowcovers and sheets, as she moaned and brought her own hands up to carress herself. He ignored it all and cried.

Crying in such a way that had never struck him before. It had poignancy-everything he was doing had poignancy, and he felt it in his actions.

And as he rocked into her, his tears nearly almost driven away by the intensity of his rocketing end, Max felt the deep burden it was to find a shivering young man ontop of you, urging to fill you nothing but his raw emotion-the slow pressure that had lasted for nearly thirty minutes, climaxed, made her realize it the most-what she had wanted-so thats when her tears began. During his ecstasy.

Because ecstasy, desire, and emotional anguish were a dangerous trio, and they all meet together once a night (sometimes several) when two siblings, ill-fated by the stars, consummate their love with physicalities of desire and need.

Because they loved eachother so much, skin on skin, eating eachother's sweat, blood and tears, which is skin that should not have been tasted, licked, or eaten by one other.

Yet they did it anyway, even though they were not supposed to. Because that is why they cried. Because they were not supposed to.

Because in a room housing a double sized bed directly below them, was a couple who had no wherabouts that they had sex.

Nightly.

Of their quiet, late night passion, emotional sweat, tears and bliss they had on Fang's bed.

That two children who sat at their dinner table made love to eachother in tears, physically, every moment they could salvage, in the early morning hours before falling asleep together in bed.

Of the quiet sex they had in a full house. In which they sounded, often, like dogs in heat, covering up their noises.

Bliss.

Settled bliss, thought Fang, as his hand wrapped around the curve of her back. Settled bliss, he thought, as a tear slid down the side of his face as he slipped her naked, spent body inside his chest to welcome sleep. It was _he_ who had _thoroughly_ spent her body, so his possessive nature dictated to him to take care of her and pul her to his chest. He felt the undeniable trickle of wetness trail down his arm as well and was unphased. It was as common and normal as the own line streaming down his own face. He knew it was from her face. She was crying the same tears that he was. So he wasn't worried. They understood.

A Common occurrence for their situation. Where every night was tears. And every dinner was silent and awkward.

no one knew.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I got kinda discouraged before. Thanks for all the reviews-theyre the primer reason I decided to upload this chapter. Its not edited, so its crappily written, and I apologize for it. Sorry for the melodrama, sorry if you think its overdone.**

**But The last chapter is either the next or the one after that. If you want to know what happens, then please review.**


	30. That's When He Realized

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: Realization  
**

Iggy was blissfully unaware of their current situation. They made it careful that way.

Fang never showed his face in front of them ever again. They made sure.

To make sure that Iggy knew and _thought, _that their relationship was over.

Even though it still continued, in the deep corners of late night meetings,

with quiet caresses and soft groans exchanged between wet eyes in the dark.

* * *

He didn't know how she would take the next part.

However, he was going to say it anyway.

"I can't live in this house, with you so close, seeing you every day, and pretend I don't want you. I can't..."

His eyes caught hers and he wanted to make sure she understood the poignancy of each and every word he was saying.

"So I am going to touch you every time no one is looking, and I'll kiss you each and every time we're alone for as long as you'll let me. I just can't have you so close and.. and... " _And just not do anything about it._ He couldn't bring himself to finish.

It was too painful; too emotional. Too true._  
_

_I need to make the most of what I've got left with you, Max.. because heaven has cursed us, and hell inevitably has condemned us, and even that god in hell even knows that we don't have much time left._

_Max. _

_It's what happens when hell has damned you, _

_Maximum Ride._

He reached over and touched the long, escaped strands of hair that had fallen in front of her left ear. Her head was bent low, studying. She looked up to him suddenly, and then smiled suddenly, brushing it back behind her ear before returning to her study sheets.

He broke himself out of his fantasies.. if only he could say those things out loud to her.

Her radiant smile had almost made his heart stutter and skip a few beats.

They were at the dinner table and he was supposed to tutor her.

Fang's fingers lingered in the air where they had brushed. His eyes were now staring at her profile in shock, the memory of her radiant smile and the effects of it's gaze momentarily on him reverberating in his mind. How could she affect him _so_ much? It made him choke—that _single_ second. No girl had ever done this to him before.

Screw it. Screw it all.

He bent low and caught her lips in his. He caressed them passionately between his own and his tongue, wanting to show everything he felt in her.

They were alone, no one around. They could do it. It was possible.

He reached back around her and slowly, gently, slid his hand around her head and the other behind her waist, pressuring to get closer to him and continue the kiss. No studying was to be going on in the near time. At least not on his watch. He was too eager.

Fang kept kissing her, leaving small, gentle, passionate pecks, in between long and deep intense ones. They were flourishes and made her chest want to explode and her body want to sigh. He had no idea what effect he had her, Max thought. She was left utterly breathless as he ministrated her lips with caresses and embellished those caresses with slow rolls up her body with his keen knuckles. He leaned more and further into her before he finally let her go. They had just made out for a good 3 or 5 minutes. In broad daylight, in the living room. Without anyone knowing.

The fact surprised him immensely, somehow it never seemed to stop phasing him when they got away with something like that.

Maybe its 'cause they weren't _supposed to_ and both knew it.

It was taboo.

"Go back to your work now," he directed afterward. He had to get in control of himself.

Ugh! Max rapidly felt infuriation grow within her body, particularly due to his behavior. Like he could just do that and then make her work again. UGH! It was so.. so.. _like Fang_. Ugh.

But, nevertheless, she had no choice. She couldn't very well complain about the lack of ministrations anymore, could she? That would make her head and face explode in embarrassment. Turning back to her table, her face was etched with secret _utter _disbelief and horror; she tried not to glare at him in shock, but failed miserably. She was helpless to her emotions.

He knew of the source of her anger of course, but hid a grin. This was his Max.

He knew what affect that command would have on her, had done it purposely, especially so near to the end of his attentive ministrations on her. Making her angry and messed up was his sick, sadistic pastime, he thought erotically. He hated her, he hated himself, but god, was it a sickly obsession. He couldn't let go of it.

He liked her behavior when she was angry. He was disgusting, he realized, for having such a hobby.

_You're sick for even being turned on by her in general_. The voice in his mind made him frown immediately. _Forget about your fetishes, go worry about your discretion._ Now he was glad his hands were not on her.

He fought the thoughts out of his mind and set to work looking over her finished worksheets as she finished each one.

He still had to make her study afterall. That was what Jeb and Dr. Martinez paid him for. For the last 4 months, he'd been making money off of making study sheets for Max. He was sure half of it was because Dr. Martinez knew he would not accept straight up spending cash from her, but alot of also had to do with the fact that Max had been falling back in school.

That's what he was paid for.

Tutoring his sister.

What would his friends back in Massachussetts think of him?

He was _Fucking _his _sister too. Nightly_.

That he was manipulating her into not being able to sleep without him.

Thats what they would think.

Upon that thought, he finally decided.

He needed to go.

* * *

**_AUTHORRSS NOTE: _**

_Wow its been a while. _

_I thought I'd update this chapter just for the sake of updatng_

_I had it written a while ago.. actually, according to Document Manager, its allotted to expire in 3 days. I logged into FF for the first time in months just in the nick of time not to lose this writing.  
_

_ANyhow, I hope the rest of you are looking forward to what I meant in the last line!  
_


	31. The End

_Summary: Max and Fang, caught in a forbidden romance. Something taboo in nature, and something that they can't help but defy. AU. _

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One: The End  
**

"Ha..ha.."

The breathing deep, light, and heavy.

"Ugh..uwah..ugha"

He groaned deep into the pillow by the side of her head and then finally pulled out, bent over and started jacking himself off.

Thats what he did, usually.

He'd go into her and he'd savor the moments he could with her but would always finish outside.

It was still sex, he said to her. I'm still going inside you, whenever she'd start feeling insecure.

That one particular night seemed to be heavy though.

He wouldn't stop

They did it three or four times.

To the point where he was sweating heavy and hard on his back

To when, he, who never usually made noise, was heaving and grunting as he pulled himself off.

The angry, passionate kisses he gave her had more poignancy to them

He wasnt even crying-they didn't even cry like they usually did

It was just pure, overwhelming passion

Longing

She knew something was off

Which is why, the next day, when her family was standing by the doorway in front of him,

she wasn't sure why she had begun to cry

How could she not have expected this? She had known something was wrong

She had known something was off the night where he'd stayed up all night having sex with her

Yet she didnt know why her tears were wet and her face, peach-red

She didn't know why she hadn't expected this

Seeing him stand by the doorway, with his sparse suitcase holding all of his belongings

Dr. Martinez felt some shame in her

That after so many months, those were the only belongings he felt were his.

But he looked each of them in the eye

Max's arms were crossed over her chest, and she couldn't look up to meet his

She felt betrayed

Anguished.

But he knew what he'd had to do.

He'd had to savor that one last night, of having sex with his sister

And then finally let go

He knew he couldnt stay here any longer.

And from the look on Jeb's face.. so did he.

Ella seemed sad, but on her face there was a look of longing seriousness that showed that her respect for Fang was revitalized.

Because above all, she knew that he was a good person. Morally righteous.

And their love affair.. it screwed him over. It fucked him over. He wasn't the type to seduce his sister, or to fall in love with one.

This had been just something gone wrong.

And he had to leave to make it right again. He knew it was something gone wrong. He knew he had to leave.

In front of Jeb, Ella and Valencia, all he could do was turn to Max and say, "Good luck with Iggy,"

to say "Come visit me Ella" without glancing at Max

"Thanks for the food Dr. Martinez" without meeting her eyes (how could he? the remnants of last night was still fresh in his mind...and she was her mother)

"It was nice meeting you.. Je-Dad"

And it was perhaps, that last word, that had hardened Max's resolve.

That last "Dad" that had made her heart stutter and allow her to remain still as he watched her leave.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched her stay still and not move an inch as he turned away from the front porch steps.

He knew she wouldn't move.. but part of him felt himself breaking apart as he watched her stay still. Not come after him.

_It was what you asked for. It was what you made_. He reminded himself on the train.

7 and a half months.. gone down the drain.

Well, Fang, at least you've learned something.

The hurt look on Dr. Martinez's face when, at 5 in the morning, he had disclosed his decision to her. Let her know that he had saved up enough money in his bank account from odd jobs he had done around California and his tutoring job with Max. The fact that since he was 17 now, and had enough money in his savings account, he would be allowed access to his parent's inheritance. That his house in Massachussetts was left empty with a groundskeeper and he felt an obligation to go back and pay tribute to his parents. That he loved his time here, but he always felt like an intruder..since this was not his home. That he love Max..and Ella..and Jeb and her, but he had to go back. That he had promised to finish high school and send letters every now and then. That although he didnt need to, with custody over himself now, he still would. To please not tell Max or Ella the reason behind why he left.. that they should understand themselves.

But although all those reasons had been legitimate.. had it been that he were allowed to love his sister, he surely, most undoubtely, would never have left.

It surprised everyone in the house. Unplanned, according to them, though he had been mulling it over for two months now.

From the moment he had said yes to having sex with her, he had been calculating his expenses.

Doing research on how a 17-year old could advocate self-custody

How he could move back

Go away

Seperate herself from him

Because he couldnt control his desires. Because he was a 17-year-old boy and couldn't help but want to feel the girl he liked and was in love with.

Because he needed to leave.

So he did.

They were never meant to be.

* * *

_King Hooper Mansion, Newport, Massachusetts. Fang's home.  
_

_1 year and 2 months later_

"Sweet party man, thanks for hosting it," a nondescript boy said passing.

Fang nodded mildly and ignored the boy, staring off into space, his feet perched up ontop of the windowsill he had spent his childhood drawing ontop of.

"Chill, man, whatsup?" his friend Dylan said curiously sitting beside him, "We're graduating, loosen up a bit. You've been so out of it these days."

Fang shrugged carelessly, and felt the curious urge to tell his friend to fuck off. Though he knew that telling him would make no difference, they'd known eachother since they were 5. Their parents had been friends. They'd grown up together.

"It's nothing. Go get drunk."

Dylan started laughing.

"Naw, its no fun without you these days anyway. You are so stone sober these days its amazing. I wonder why you ever even bother hosting these parties anyway."

_Because I don't like to be by myself._

_"_Fuck off," Fang said. Dylan continued laughing.

"What is this dazed-out mood because of.. that girl you've been thinking of? The one in Calli?"

"Leave me alone, just get drunk and hook up with some ugly bitch and go away"

"C'mon tell me about her"

"No."

"Was she bleach-blond and tanned? Nice bikini body?"

Fang's eyebrows twitched with agitation.

"We didn't live near the beach"

"How hot was she?"

_Don't talk about my sister that way_

_"_Get the fuck away from me"

"C'monn Nick, some details here!"

Fang got up and started to walk away.

"I bet you're only sulking over her cause it was some unrequited love."

He stopped walking and turned around finally.

"No. She knew I liked her. She liked me too."

"Ahh then you couldn't get it in? Some hormonal regret lingering around here, eh?"

"Dylan, stop being an ass. Go find your freshman hottie"

"No-no, I gotta find out why you've been moody over this girl this entire year. This is the most I've been able to get out of you since september."

Fang sighed. He gave up and plopped back down on the sofa beside him. They were mostly isolated from the party, sitting in a part of the kitchen overlooking the patio, away from the loud music and squeals. Though he never joined in, just knowing that there were other people in the house always served as a source of comfort for him. Somehow, the distractions made him forget.. not let him linger over the things that were constantly on his mind.

"Okay! So tell me... Its cause you weren't able to get it in, right?"

"No," he said stoicly, "We had sex."

Dylan almost fell out of his chair. "_Wha_-at?" he said from the floor, "_You_ had sex with her?"

Dylan knew that after his sophomore year, Fang's first two times, drunk at parties, he refused to casually lay anyone. Him having sex with this girl was actually some important deal.

Fang started to get up and walk away from him again, regretting having told him anything.

"Wait," Dylan called out, "then why'd you leave?"

"Cause we weren't supposed to," he said without turning back.

He was disgusting, he knew.

He could never tell anyone his thoughts, his secret.

How he longed for his half-sister. Missed her. Desired for her.

How late at night, he'd stay up in his large, vast room, and stare up at the ceiling. Thinking about how lonely and large his bed felt. How he'd see her face in the ceiling and how he'd pretend she was back by him

Touch himself, thinking of the times he'd had sex with her. Say her name, quietly, desperately as his desire would come to fruition and he would wet his pillow.

Only to knock himself out his sense and find himself lonely, alone and in bed all over again, his limp organ lying in his hands.

_Max, _he thought, _I hate you._

You must hate me more, _he thought._

_I know you hate me more._

_I'm the brother who took your virginity_

_Who took your first kiss_

_Who seperated you from your boyfriend _

_The one you've known since grad-school and should've been with_

_He should've been your high school sweetheart_

_But I destroyed it.  
_

_I did everything to you for the first time_

_I took your virginity from you  
_

_And I know I should regret it_

_But I don't._

Thats why I'm horrible.

Why I couldn't possibly have stayed any longer.

I'm sorry, Max.

But it doesn't stop me from missing you.


	32. Special

**Something Gone Wrong: Part II**

* * *

Cool white puffs left parched, chapped lips as Nicholas Adamson shut the front door of a silver BMW, a dark navy beanie stretched over his ears to keep him warm. His hair was flattened down by it to cover his eyes and he shivered slightly as he clicked his car keys before pocketing them.

The black hair fell through and cut across his deep black lashes as he looked down at his watch. The dark hair pushed against his pale face violently contributed to an image his friends seemed unable to let go of—"Fang." The nickname he'd had since the 3rd grade. It had lasted throughout high school and he was surprised to find that in college, no one else knew him as anything else either.

Stuffing his bare fists deep into his pockets vindictively, he turned around and swiftly trudged away, scurrying to get out of the abominable cold mess that was his dear Massachusetts winters

He had grown up in this mess, but for some reason the cold felt bitingly bitter these days.

And the summers never seemed warm enough.

The bitterness of the cold and the panging hallowness in the summers plagued him with blisters and night-sweats, crumpled up in the light blue sheets of his double bed. There was a certain hollowness he didn't know to place.

Shuddering in the cold, Fang gritted and ran up to the steps of the Applied Physics and Mathematics building to get to class.

* * *

Maximum "Max" Ride took a deep, relaxed breath from her nose, eyes closed and a slight smile tingling on her face, before finally exhaling a deep breath.

She finally opened her eyes, revealing hazel eyes sparkling in the light as she looked over the pretty garden in front of her mathematics building happily. Absolutely everything was covered in snow.

She giggled and knelt down to pick up a large hill, carefully stuffing it clamped together between warm, magenta-knit mittens to fix it into a proper sphere.

Working so focusedly and concentratedly, she didn't notice a creeping character coming up behind her.

"AH!" Max exclaimed as someone came up beside her and slammed their hands ontop of the her shoulders.

Max had jumped up in surprise and turned around, bewildered and somewhat dismayed that her snowman-in-the-making was lost. However, she lost sight of the regret when she saw who it was.

As a first-year freshman on campus at one of the most selective schools in the country, Max was surprised and happy that she had made a new friend so easily.

Her new friend and suite-mate, Nicole Dyer, seemed to be generally amiable person and she had already spent several late nights staying up talking to her.

Max's own roommate hadn't arrived yet, even though it was already 2 weeks into the new semester, so Nicole would often come over from the dorm next door and hang out on the empty bed since she seemed to be at odds at the OCD girl who was her roommate.

As suite-mates, the two shared the same kitchen and dining table, so Max and Nicole had spent a considerable amount of time together before classes had begun.

Nicole's shapely figure was covered up by a heavy winter parka, but her red cheeks radiated warmth as she smiled at Max.

With hair was a five or six shades lighter than Max's beige-brown-blond mixture, Nicole's character suited her stunning visage—incredibly sociable. Max was relieved to find a friend who would undoubtedly feel ease to introduce her to everyone else in her contacts. Considering she, herself, was somewhat of a recluse, she secretly felt relieved that she had made such a sociable close friend so early in the year.

College was all about meeting new people, right? Max knew she wouldn't be able to do that with her own personality.

Max sighed deeply, looking up into the blue, blue sky and watching white air stream out from her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest felt light and airy.

For the first time in a long time, she felt _happy_.

This was a new start—a _fresh _start. Everything in the past was now behind her—in the past.

She could start over now.

* * *

Fang groaned deeply and agitatedly, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows angrily as he grumbled. Dylan was still ranting to him about going to a party on Thursday night.

He heard the sound of a beer can crushing beneath his shoes and growled even louder.

"STOP BEING SUCH A SLOB," Fang finally shouted at his long-time friend and quasi-roomate, slamming his eyes open in anger and completely ignoring the question of the party that his friend had been rambling on about for the past half hour.

Fang was currently in his friend Dylan's apartment, slouching down in a blue recliner. Technically, the apartment was 1/3rd his own, but he never slept here. Conveniently near his college, Fang slept at home and drove over to his classes. Naturally being a somewhat private person himself, he couldn't stand the idea of sharing his space with two other men.

As for the apartment... Dylan didn't want to keep living with his parents throughout college so had opted to rent out an apartment.

Unfortunately, the guy couldn't afford it all himself, so had roped Fang into being a benefactor of it, in exchange for open use of it.

It wasn't a sensical trade by any means, but Fang hadn't cared at all and just shoved over the start up money to his friend. God knows that he had more money than he knew what to do with.

The trust funds and stocks he was casually investing his deceased parents' money in—as _sport—_kept racking in profits too. The money kept growing.

However, besides his bare living expense and the few amenities he would at times indulge in, he didn't have much to spending. It wasn't as if he had a girlfriend to shower with gifts.

"I'M NOT GOING TO SOME STUPID PARTY," Fang shouted once again to his friend, clearly agitated before he slammed his eyes back down once again, his feet propped up on the table and his shoulders lazy. slumped down into the couch.

The one benefit of being a benefactor of the apartment: it gave Fang a place to be when he didn't want to be home.

Dylan and Steve—who actually lived here—were always there. It was.. comfortable, sometimes, to be surrounded by voices.

Even _if_ his friend was just as annoying as he had been in high school.

Fang sighed another deep breath—the bazillionth he'd exhaled that month—tiredly in the snow once again as he slammed his car door. The sky above him was dark, but it was too cold to see any stars. He wearily turned and walked towards the quaint building connected to the parking lot.

It was better this restaurant than going to that dumb party with Dylan.

But nonetheless, he was currently stuck being an annoying support-wingman for his friend Steve's new date. Fang sighed once again lamentedly; his friends truly didn't appreciate what a good friend he was considering how antisocial he was by nature.

He completely ignored the fact that he had only blurted it out as an excuse to get out of going to a party with Dylan and having to drag the drunk back home.

It was just his luck that Steve had walked into the living room just at that moment and grinned widely, assuming that Fang had reconsidered the request.

In reality, he hadn't, but now he was stuck going. To keep up pretenses.

Fang sighed again, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked across the parking lot. It probably wouldn't be much effort. Just sit next to the guy as he made lovey-dovey faces at the girl he had met at the mixer. Make casual nice-talk with the girl sitting next to Steve's girl.

Be polite. Be civil. Don't snap.

Fang gave up and started muttering. The things he did for his friends.

Approaching the entrance, Fang straightened his back out of its normal slouch. He knew how to be a gentlemen; even if this date was a farce, he would still impress the girl.

Who knew? Maybe it'd be a decent girl.

Massachusetts was a major university area—he wondered for a moment what mixer Steve had gone to.

Fang handed the waiter his coat and stepped out into the dining entrance, scanning the tables.

Steve had had late evening classes that night, so Fang had arrived separately. Keen cobalt black eyes clicked up as he finally spotted the back of his friend's head and walked towards the table.

"Hey, Steve," he called from a few feet away as he approached.

With a smile, the boy turned around, hearing his friend's voice.

Whereas Dylan was loud, hectic, unplanned and fearless. Steve was cautious, eager, timid and intellectual.

Although Fang had attended high school with Dylan, he found himself finding more common ground with the guy Dylan had introduced him to in the middle of summer, when they had been scouting for roommates for their apartment. Both engineering majors, Fang and Steve shared a good number of classes at MIT and got along well together. That being said, Fang felt compelled not to completely ruin his date with a grumpy attitude.

Walking forward to Steve's table, where he was sitting across from two girls, Fang stepped forward, ready to greet them with a smile, when, suddenly, his heart stopped.

Fang stood, caught in a momentary frame of time as he stared at the girl sitting diagonally across from the empty chair.

The girl with dirty-blond brown hair eyes felt a curiously familiar tingling sensation on her head, as if someone was watching her, before she looked up from the table, from her menu.

Standing three feet away from the table, his eyes caught on hers, was Fang.

Black hair that was shorter now and in a different cut fell over his eyes in an unfamiliar way.

But the face was the same. The jaw.

"Fang," she whispered in disbelief as he blindly sat down.

Her eyes were wide with shock, identical to his own. He was still trying to figure out whether this was just another one of his hallucinations. But she wasn't dissapearing.

"Umm..." her friend Nicole began, moving her line of sight awkwardly between the two of them. The air between them was tense ever since that other guy got here. "Do you two know each other?"

Alarmed, Fang strangled his eyes away from Max.

"She's my half—"

"No." Max cut him off. "We don't know each other."

He looked up at her, deep into her eyes. Questioning.

And in them, he read an answer that rendered him silent.

And then after a moment, he spoke too.

"No, we don't."

"Um, well. This is Nicole," Steve awkwardly introduced, "And that's her friend Max."

He knew his friend often got into weird moods, but this is the strangest he'd seen from him yet. If he had known Fang was so bad around girls, he wouldn't have invited him in the first place.

Feeling bile creep up his throat as he pretended to acknowledge Max for the first time, Fang took a glass of water from his right side and swallowed a sip.

"So, what school do you guys go to?" Fang asked.

The intensity of his stare punctured Max. _I'm talking to you. _

Nicole smiled prettily at Steve and leaned forward a bit over the table. Fang didn't move his gaze off of Max's.

"Brandeis," the busty girl across from Steve replied, smiling. "I'm majoring in English."

"We go to MIT," Steve replied, "I'm majoring in chemical engineering, and Fang is undecided in his concentration, but he's also in the hard sciences."

"Brandeis," Fang muttered finally, looking at Max. How had she managed to get into a selective liberal arts school like Brandeis? He couldn't help the slight smirk that graced his lips and tried hiding it by taking another slip of water, but Max caught it and frowned.

He was making fun of her! Again!

The two ate dinner silently and methodically, the chatter between their respective friends enough to fill the lull.

Fang, for the most part, completely ignored Max's presence and instead asked Nicole a lot of questions and related her answers back to Steve.

He ignored Max completely, but somehow he felt empty when he noticed that her face wasn't growing red in frustration.

She wasn't getting angry at being ignored.

She was just quietly eating her dinner. Silently.

It had been three years.

Three years since they had seen each other.

And now, she shows up in Massachusetts. She goes to _Brandeis_.

She cuts him off just when he's about to tell everyone that she's his half-sister.

And when he had looked into her eyes for an answer, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. But there was something unmistakable in them too.

Pleading.

_No one knows here_.

The four words entered his brain as if the synapses of his mind had been stimulated by an electric shock. As if the nerve endings had been cut off and then reconnected.

And then he repeated it in his own head: No one _knows_ here.

This was a chance meeting. But it held so much fortune.

Fang set down his fork on the table with finality, looking down. Nicole and Steve looked flushed and happy, completely ignorant of their silent companions and equally as uncaring.

"Why don't you guys check out the ice rink," he said. "It's nice around this time of the year."

"Great idea!" Nicole said happily, her smile large, before she called out for the bill. "Max, you know how to skate, right?"

"I—"

"Actually, I have class early in the morning. And I'm a bit tired so I think I'm gonna be heading back," Fang said suddenly, "I can drive Max back," he suggested.

Steve grinned secretly as he realized what situation his friend was trying to set up for him. But Nicole frowned.

"No. Max can go with us." The blond sent Fang a scrutinizing look laced with utter disgust.

Bewildered at the aggressive response, Fang pulled back, eyes wide. Steve slumped back embarrassedly.

Max, on the other hand, glanced over at her friend and smiled nervously at her.

"It's okay. Fang is friends with Steve... I'm sure he'll just drop me off like a gentlemen."

Nicole frowned again, glaring at the guy who had openly suggested taking her friend in his car.

"No," the busty blond repeated with a voice of steel.

Max sighed and rolled her eyes. "He justs wants you to be able to have some time alone with Steve," she said very quickly before getting up and walking across the table, grabbing Fang's arm along the way. Knowing Nicole would never let this issue fall, she quickly made their escape.

Left alone in their wake, Steve blushed and looked away.

Their entire ice-skating night was spent with her badgering him with questions concerning Fang's character and nocturnal habits.

* * *

Max hadn't stopped until they were well in the middle of the parking lot.

White breath fell from both of their mouths when they finally stood at a standstill.

He stood there for a moment, his breath gone from his lungs as they stood alone in the vast lot.

"Well!" she exclaimed impatiently after a while, "Which one is supposed to be your car?"

Oh. So _thats _why she had stopped.

She didn't look directly at him as she spoke though.

He raised up a finger and silently pointed at a silver BMW. She humphed and began walking toward it, trying to hide that she was impressed by the fact that he had a car—and a nice one at that. He followed, no longer propelled by her iron grip around his upper arm.

Fang had always been a glutton for silence, but suddenly he came to the realization that he couldn't take it anymore.

He couldn't take _this_ anymore.

He walked up to her, who had already reached the car and called out her name.

"Max."

She turned around.

"Max. How—how—" Fang stuttered.

She waited.

"You—" He tried again.

There was something different in her face.

"Did you—"

Though the air was colder now, somehow it didn't feel as bitter as it did an hour ago.

"Max," he said finally.

It was embarrassing how he felt tears rim at his eyes again.

He remembered tears—tears they cried while they'd had sex when they were still between 16 and 17.

Now they were 20.

They had both aged.

Now, there was nothing to stop them.

In the middle of the night, Fang leaned over and pumped into her again. Her moans—a bit more mature this time—reverberated once again around the tall tinned walls of his vast, luxurious bedroom.

Oh, how he enjoyed this.

His own girl, in his own bed, in his own room, in his _own_, empty, house.

He was _pleasuring_ her. Oh, how he enjoyed this.

This was not quiet, silent desperation. This was not consummation to prove a plight.

They all knew she was his girlfriend now.

Because no one _knew_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I got like 70+ reviews asking me to continue this.

How about you guys pay me back for writing this by taking the new poll I have on my profile? :) The question is rather abstract.

Oh and if any of you are into Avatar: The Last Airbender, I've been writing a couple of multifics in that fandom :)

Please tell me what you thought! And please take the poll!


	33. Sex

Fang, Max realized after two days, was not just a good lover. He was too good.

She didn't know how he learned it and she wasn't sure she particularly wanted the answer to that question. All she knew was that at the age of 16, conflicted as they were with the trials and tribulations that came with the sheer existence of their relationship, their sex had been simply emotional and raw. She had lost her virginity multiple times to him, and it had only consisted of desperation and need.

But at the age of 20, with the relaxation and relief that came with a lack of restraint and apprehension, she realized that Fang was _beyond_ a good lover.

"Look at me," he had demanded last night. Hovering over her, his dark cobalt eyes connected with hers as he cleaved into her and hit her G-spot over and over again, making eye-contact with her and watching her cum. She felt the throbbing of his penis as he came into her, his eyes still deep into hers.

She mentioned it to him casually the next morning, wearing a long button-down of his in front of the breakfast table. His facial expression didn't change-not even a hint of flattery or arrogance swept over him.

"Your toes need to curl."

Max paused and stopped what she was doing. "What?" she asked, confused.

"Before I end it," he clarified, "I try to make sure your toes curl. Thats my goal."

Max blinked. Once. Twice.

"Oh," she responded then, surprised.

Without a word, Fang returned to his plate of sausage and toast and reading over the paper. Within the past two weeks, Max had practically begun to live within his large Victorian house. He liked it like this. It had been only 14 days since she had met him by chance on a date with his friend Steve.

But finally, finally his life felt complete.

Max, to his surprise, within the absence of three years, seemed to have become a bit more domesticated.

A _bit_, of course. Just a bit. At least she didn't steal toast in lieu of making it herself anymore. She definitely did not realize how much she surprised him on the first day that she got up from his large king-sized bed in the morning and made breakfast for the both of them.

He recalled the times, back when he lived in California in his junior year of high school, that Max did not even know how to operate a toaster, much less know how to fry an egg or cook sausage.

He still didn't let her near his sausage of course-he was quite particular of how he liked it-but she did, however, liked to make the both of them breakfast of her own volition.

The truth was, he liked seeing her in his shirts. Otherwise, he wouldn't even come down to the kitchen.

"I'm thinking of switching to a Political science major," he suddenly mentioned to her, taking a sip of coffee from his mug without looking up from the newspaper.

Max turned around from the stove. A single brow on her oval-shaped face cocked critically but she tried not to let the skepticism seep through her voice. She took a moment and then a deep, low breath before she finally responded to him.

"Um. You go to MIT, Fang..."

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. A bit too late to decide changing your career choice completely when you're already in an engineering school.

"I can take courses within the consortium to finish the major. I'll probably finish the Physics major at MIT."

For some unbeknownst reason, Max suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.

She didn't know why, but 14 days and she had already begun worrying. For decisions that he made concerning his future.

It was strange.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a parallel fear was indicating that it wasn't _all_ of his decisions, but rather the decisions which would determined his future. _Their_ future.

Their domestic situation was too convincing. Made it feel too real.

Somehow, she knew, as she sat down at the small breakfast table across from him and leaned over a discarded section of his Boston Globe, that there was something deeper here between them.

Fang knew it too. He felt it. Thats why he was refused to make eye contact with her as he told her about his major.

Its because he, too, realized that she had every right to know. That in the future, his career path might change as he took up another academic credential. That he might not become an operations engineer, but a politican.

He refused to look her in the eye.

It was because, after just 14 days, he realized that no matter what, their futures depended on one another. That wherever he was going, she was going to have to deal with him. She was going to be along for the ride, so she had every right to know if Fang suddenly decided to change his career field.

'You might be a wife of a politican rather than the wife of an engineer, Max,' was what he was saying to her. And thats why he refused to look her in the eye as he subtly told her about picking up another major. They both knew the implications of his informing her.

It was because, somewhere within the span of 14 days, the two realized that they were more than just temporary boy/girl-friend.

They were together. Sitting at a breakfast table, sipping coffee and reading the paper while she was dressed in only his shirt, they had a future_._

So it was imperative to inform her about whether he might be a politican or an engineer.

He knew that they had every intention to stay together, for as long as they could get away with it.

Yet at the ages of 19 and 20, over 2600 miles between them and their common father, the question of "until when?" it simply didn't occur to them. All they saw now was the present. They forcibly pushed other possibilities out of their heads because, for now, they felt freedom.

He could hold her in bed at night, kiss her casually in front of her calculus classroom, finger her tenderly against the mahogany wood in his sitting room, butt-naked against the tv-cabinet. He could hear her moan and squeal and mewl sweet gasps against his chest anywhere in the four-story house.

No one would care, and no one would know. And there would not be a problem in the world because their only problem was more than 2500 miles away.

The epiphany reached him and it instilled within him, determination. He reached over and slammed down the article of the Boston Globe which had been covering Max's face to the table.

She looked up at him in surprise, a coffee mug poised near her mouth.

His darkened eyes slid down and assessed the unbuttoned collar of his shirt that she was wearing.

He would fuck her on the couch. In the open air. In his living room. Right now.

Just because he could. Because _they could._

* * *

Max realized Fang liked freedom.

He liked fucking her in _very_ open places. Particularly places with open air.

Yesterday, he had fucked in the garden. Over a bush.

_In the garden._ While she was leaned _over a bush_. He had been thrusting into her from the back.

And he had left his cum spread over the greenery. In his back yard.

She still had a few scratch marks from the prickly leaves on the bush her elbows had been leaning against. Thankfully it was the back garden, and if the estate had not simply SO large, she would have protested.

It was the freedom that he liked.

They definitely had privacy in his ginormous estate. But he felt liberated fucking her in the open air.

It was teenage defiance, she assumed. Probably something deeper than that, given the history of their relationship. But, nonetheless, something psychological that caused him to coerce her into such risque sexual endeavors.

At the moment, she was currently leaned over him on the long couch. He was lying straight down, vertically, in just his underwear.

A muffled moan escaped his mouth and his eyes were closed. His face looked like it was in pain, but it was, in fact the opposite.

She was, afterall, in nothing but an extra-skanky too-small tank top, grinding ontop of him on purpose.

His hands ghosted over her hips, pulling and pushing her on top of him. His risen groin was being humped gently by just her panty-clad body and he achingly tried to thrust back into her.

He released another dark, muffled and retrained groan and slid his hands around her back to pull her closer to him as they dry-humped.

"FF-GET OFF OF HER"

Fang's eyes widened and he immediately removed his hands from her. The two stilled and suddenly looked up at the two sudden intruders.

Fang completely forgot that he had given them his keys.


	34. Of Course not

**Chapter 34: Of Course Not**

****In life there are moments holding more substance than others; to predict them is hard. To measure them upon occurrence is impossible. Fang knew, that for the rest of his life, he would remember this precise one.

It was not that he knew it would come to define the rest of his life, but rather that he it held the significance to mark a turning point.

"What are you DOING?" a high-pitched voiced shrieked from outside of his vision. It was laced with both malice and concern at once.

Max was hovering over Fang and her hair was cloaking him.

Up until just a few moments ago, his groin had been frantically rubbing up against her clothed crotch. She lifted herself up slightly now, shocked as well. As her head turned, the long curtain of blond hair obscuring his vision shifted and allowed him to see his friend Steve standing beside the doorway.

With Max's friend, whats-her-name, looking about ready to bust a nerve. Steve looked both shocked and highly uncomfortable. The copy of Fang's house-keys he owned dangled from his fingers, as if he was too shocked to regain his bearing and return them to his pocket.

"Get the fuck off her, you sleazeball," the busty blond girl demanded as he took a big gulp.

_As you can see, I'm not actually _on_ her, smartass, _Fang restrained the urge to retort.

Max lifted herself off of him and the immediately stood up.

And after a beat, Fang grabbed a cushion from the couch behind him and placed it in front of his swollen groin. He was clothed in nothing but, while Max was still outfitted in her skimpy tank-top/panty ensemble.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thanked his nonexistant god that they had not walked in when things had escalated further than foreplay.

"Nicole... Calm down," Max started, her arm raised in a placating gesture.

Steve looking off to the side, looking highly embarrassed by his friend. Fang shook his head in disappointment as he glanced at Steve. What mess had he gotten him into now? That Nicole chick, Max's friend, seemed to be incredibly tight by the situation. No doubt the blonde chick would take it out on his friend though.

"You've known eachother for_ two days!_" the girl exclaimed out of breath, oblivious to Max's attempts to calm her down, "And you're having _sex_ with him?"

"Two _weeks_..." he heard Max mutter underneath her breath.

Behind thick black-rimmed glasses, Steve furrowed his eyebrows in disappointment at his boxer-clad friend.

"Yeah. Seriously, man," he asked hesitantly, looking perturbed, "Whats wrong with you? What were you thinking? You don't usually do stuff like this."

Fang peripherally felt Max's interest peak at Steve's comment. However, he refused to turn and look at her though.

Instead, he took a deep breath, wondering how to explain this situation.

Closing his eyes, he sat and fell back into the lush couch, tired of holding the pillow up against his crotch and now just throwing it across his lap. He noticed Max glance down at him irritably.

Okay, so he wasn't helping. But he was obviously the bad guy here-the "sleazeball," so its not like they would listen to his word anyway.

"You haven't been home since the wednesday before last because you've stayed HERE?" Nicole screached once again, looking around and noticing some of Max's affectations scattered around the room. Fang quietly growled in irritation.

What was the problem with her staying here?

"Look-" he started, before getting promptly cut off by the loud blonde.

"NO. _You_ look here, you... You... Whats your name?"

Fang rolled his eyes, now uncaringly lounging back on the couch with a pillow on his lap.

"Fang," Steve supplied.

"Look here, Fang. Wait- _Fang_? What kind of name is Fang?" she demanded, turning her head over to shout at Steve.

Fang rolled his eyes yet again.

Steve helplessly shrugged, looking quite fearful of her now. "Nick. But everyone calls him Fang."

Nicole scoffed in disbelief. It was the type of scoff the pretentious bitch he had initially that Max was, would give.

Fang furrowed his brows and looked up at her in a glare, disliking her as each and every second passed. She turned back to face the two.

"No, seriously, Max. I thought you had a better head than that. How did you let this guy just take advantage of you," she continued to rant.

"I didn't-"

"What is he doing, just _keeping_ you here as... As a sex-slave or something?" Nicole turned to Fang and pointed at him. "_You_. You. Get out of here. Get out. Now."

Fang's stared at her in shock. Was this girl legitimately ordering him... to get out of his _own_ house?

Confused, he threw a questioning look at Steve, who looked quite embarrassed, standing off to the side. Fang's good judgment allowed him the grace to not respond to the girl and potentially ruin any semblence of hope he could have with getting on her good side for the future.

"LOOK, NICOLE," Max finally screamed, to Fang's great relief. The blonde finally shut up and just stared at her friend. Max took a deep breath after he heave and with direct eye-contact, addressed her friend.

"We knew eachother," she said, then. Fang's ears perked. What lie was she going to tell them now? The only reason he hadn't yet been talking was because he had no clue as to what to say or explain to them.

Certainly not, _Well Max is my half-sister from California. We kind of fell in love and fucked ourselves over. _That wouldn't suffice.

So he had just been sitting there blankly, trying to think for a moment until Max had cut in.

"From back home, I mean," she explained to Nicole. Her voice slightly wavered in uncertainty of how to continue. Precisely how had they met?

Thankfully, Steve cut in precisely at that moment.

"Wait," the pale plaid-shirt wearing boy inserted, surprise sitting on his face. "Wait, is she the girl?" he asked excitedly, point at Max and looking to Fang for confirmation. "Is she that girl, that one in California, that you were obsessed with?"

Fang's jaw dropped inside his mouth. Did his friend really just say that outloud? He felt Max's curious gaze on the back of his head and he could feel his ears burning.

Nicole mouth dropped too, suddenly. As if she just had a realization.

"Wait.. So you guys knew each other? Max, you knew him?" she looked to her for confirmation.

"Um.. Yeah. Fang is actually, my, um. My..." she raised up one index finger. Fang turned his head and looked off the side.

He still was not comfortable confronting that fact.

It was quiet for a really long time.

And then, suddenly, Nicole seemed to have gathered her realization together and sprung into action. She quickly turned and grabbed Steve's arm, dragging his flustered form out the doorway. Presumably realizing and wanting to give them privacy.

"You had _better_ tell me why you pretended not to know him before, later," her voice shouted from the doorway.

The two stood frozen where they were, Fang on the couch and Max standing up in front of the table, until they finally heard the noise of car starting up and exiting the driveway.

They heard the car enter the roadway and drive off and did not speak until it was quiet once more.

Fang's erection was gone. But the moment that had passed had not gone without many and varied implications scattered across them.

"So," he said finally, which no intention to continue his sentence.

"So," she concurred, quietly.

His hand gently snaked up around her waist from where he sat on the couch and he pulled her down to his lap. She half leaned on him and half on the cushion still sitting on his lap.

He burrowed his face into her neck and placed a hard kiss on her collarbone.

"What am I now?"

He kissed her hard again, on the spanse beneath her neck, thinking hard but not responding.

"Your girlfriend?" her voice wavered as she questioned him.

He paused and stilled. "No... I want you to be more than just that."

He took her slowly, against the kitchen stove. His fingers traced the lips of her vulva as she sighed and moaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder while he pushed up against her from behind.

Later, up in his room, he presented her with his mother's wedding ring.

"Its just for now," he explained seriously. "It was her wedding ring. This is just temporary, for now. But its our promise."

Max sat speechless for a moment, just observing it in her hands. Until she finally placed it in his hands and allowed him to slide it on. It was a plain white silver band. Simple, but in her mind precious. Precious, because it came from him. Because it came from him, with promise.

Later, in bed that night, she quieted. "They're not going to ask us anything now, will they?"

Fang paused. "Just clear up the story with Nicole. My friends already knew."

When Max froze, he realized the implication of his sentence and amended it. "No. Not _about_ you. They just knew you existed. They didn't know _you_."

By _you_ he meant, his sister.


	35. Help

I know I haven't updated this story, but guys I have a problem:

MY MOTHER REMARRIED LAST WEEK AND I JUST MET MY STEP-BROTHER. AND HE'S SUPER HOT.

WHAT DO I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This feels like incest, even though we're not related by blood.

Ew ew ew ew

But he's so good looking... UGHH.

Help me out here, guys :(


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